Newsies in Modern High School
by KatyRose4
Summary: A series of one-shots as the newsies try to navigate modern high school. Stories of friendship, humor, a little bit of romance, and annoying the teachers.
1. Racetrack vs the Sub

**Disclaimer: I don't own newsies**

Racetrack entered his social studies class, sitting at his usual seat in the back. He waited for Mr. Kloppman, the teacher. He was a wiry old man that was strict, but loved them all. Racetrack liked Mr. Kloppman too, as he was the only teacher that would call him by his nickname and let people chew gum in class. However, he wasn't there that day. Was there going to be a sub? Race popped a stick of gum in his mouth, turned to his friend, and asked, "Hey Francis, you know where Mr. Klop is?"

"Well I don't know _Anthony._ And why'd you call be my real name anyway?" Francis hated his name and asked that he be called by his middle name, Jack.

"'Cause if Kloppman ain't here today, and I think he isn't, we're going to have a sub. And I think she'll want to call you by your real name," Racetrack jokily pointed out.

"That goes for you too you know," Jack replied with equal emotion.

As it turned out, Race was right. Just two seconds later, someone new entered the room. It wasn't a girl like Racetrack predicted, but a man. He had copper red hair and a thick beard. He wore glasses and dressed up in nice clothes. He had a mean look in his eyes that forced everyone silent. No one was going to mess with this substitute. He turned to the white board and wrote his name with big black straight lines. **MR. PULITZER**

"Aw crap, it's Mr. Pulitzer!" Jack looked nervous, surprised, and well, kind of scared.

"Why're you so nervous?" Race asked. Nothing could scare the fearless Jack Sullivan. And there was nothing scary about Mr. Pulitzer. He was just kind of intimidating and had a reputation for being awful. He hated the so-called "delinquents" and favored the honor roll students. Everyone hated him for it, especially for sending people to the dean for no reason. But no one said anything. No one wants to mess with the assistant principal after all.

"He's the assistant principal. If we make _one_ screw up, we'll get sent to the dean, or even the principal."

"So? I've been sent there like a million times." Racetrack had been sent to the dean and principal plenty of times. All you did at the dean was sit down and do nothing, as he figured out what to do with you. Which was usually nothing. No punishment inflicted. The same went for the principal, but without the homework. He just gave a _very_ long (and meaningless) "you should be ashamed of yourself young man" speech. Sometimes he talked to parents, but he was just a big pushover, and a meeting with a parent was rare. He didn't care too much.

"No, not to Dean Monahan, to Dean _Snyder_ ," Jack clarified. Students get sent to Dean Monahan when teachers didn't want to deal with their crap, or when they broke stupid rules like wearing hats or skipping the lunch line. People get sent to Snyder when they do the _really_ bad stuff, like cheating on tests or bullying.

"He did that for me when I was a freshman," Jack continued. "For annoying Pulitzer. That happens to a lot of kids. I had detention with Snyder for weeks. It was the _worst_. I think you might want to hold back this time." Racetrack had a history of annoying every single substitute. Jack was always a big fan of that, and was always glad to join in. He would never, not in a million years, prevent Race from making a mockery of a substitute. That day was the exception.

"He ain't gonna do that to me." Racetrack rolled his eyes. Mr. Pulitzer did punish students a little too harshly, but stepping out of line wouldn't be enough to get him sent to Snyder. He wasn't worried at all.

"Excuse me," David piped up from the right side of the room. "Where's Mr. Kloppman?"

"He's out sick today," Mr. Pulitzer answered. "But I'm sure he'll be back shortly. I'm your teacher for today. And we are going to do a packet. Take out your pencils so we can begin." Racetrack reached into his bag and found his pencil. It was perfectly sharpened and straight. He purposely broke the lead, and walked towards the front of the room, to the classroom sharpener. The sharpener was electric, and when Race put the pencil in it, a harsh grinding noise filled the room. He sharpened it for much longer than he needed, at least a minute, maybe two.

"That's _enough_ ," Racetrack heard Mr. Pulitzer boom from the other side of the room.

Race took the pencil out and "accidentally" broke it on the table. "But it's not sharpened yet," he replied innocently, receiving a few quiet laughs.

"I don't care. Sit down." Racetrack did as he was told, relaxing back into his seat and smirking. A slightly annoyed Pulitzer took a ballpoint pen and slapped it down on his desk. "Use that." Pulitzer returned to the front of the room, standing in front of the board. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted. Racetrack was in his seat, nonchalantly clicking the pen to the tune of one his grandmother's favorite television game shows. Mr. Pulitzer, without even saying anything, put a pencil on Race's desk. "Use this. _For writing only_." He took the pen away and put it back in his pocket. "And get that gum out of your mouth."

Racetrack remembered putting the stick in his mouth earlier, but had no interest in following Pulitzer's rules. He felt that there was no reason to do everything Pulitzer said, and since gum doesn't do any harm, he felt it pointless to spit it out. "No," Race replied.

"Get it out of your mouth," Mr. Pulitzer repeated. " _Now_ ," he said with more force. Racetrack knew Pulitzer wasn't going to back down. But he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being bossed around. Just to be annoying, he swallowed the gum down his throat. To be even _more_ annoying, he broke out into a fake coughing fit. Mr. Pulitzer wasn't pleased.

"What? It's not in my mouth anymore. It's going down my esophagus now." He coughed some more. " _Now_ it's going down my esophagus." The class chuckled. Mr. Pulitzer wanted to yell out and scream, but he knew that it wouldn't look too good. That's just what the little rat wanted. So he still maintained the calm composure, and started the lesson, ignoring Racetrack.

"On your desks, you will see a packet of fifty social studies questions. Some are multiple choice, some are true or false, and some are short answer. We will answer everything together as a class. Any questions?"

Racetrack shot his hand up. "Yeah, can you repeat all that? I wasn't listening." It received a few snickers, and Mr. Pulitzer looked mad. Race did understand the simple directions, and everyone else, including Mr. Pulitzer, knew this.

"Why don't you answer the first question," Pulitzer looked at the seating chart. "Mr. Higgins."

"No."

"Answer the question."

"I won't." Racetrack had no desire to follow Mr. Pulitzer's rules. Messing with a sub is usually just for fun, but this is different. The honor roll kids are the ones with rich parents that pay for tutoring sessions. Some of the "delinquents" were some of the hardest working students, and yet they get in trouble by Pulitzer and sent to Dean Snyder, just for messing with the wrong guy. It's messed up, at least in Race's opinion. This was his way of fighting back. He didn't want to do anything Pulitzer said.

"Race, just do it," Jack whispered under his breath.

"If you refuse to answer the question," Pulitzer continued. "I will send you to Dean Snyder."

"Well bye then." Racetrack slung the bag over his shoulder and stormed out. He didn't know where the sudden surge of anger came from, but it probably had something to do with the hatred of Pulitzer. Sharpening pencils, clicking pens, chewing gum, and refusing to answer only one question shouldn't be enough to send someone to Dean Snyder. Whatever. Not like it mattered.

So yeah, Race had detention every day for two weeks. Could be worse. That day, as he sat in Snyder's gray, drab, office, Jack walked in. He dropped the packet down on Racetrack's table, giving him a quick "good luck."

* * *

That night, in his office, Pulitzer graded the packets. The place was dim, with only a single lamp on his desk for light. One last packet to go. He looked at the name _Anthony Higgins_. "Probably didn't fill a single thing out," he quietly grumbled to himself. Opening it up, much to his surprise, that every answer was completed. Adding to amazement, he was the only student that got everything right.

 _1\. Why did America enter the First World War?_

 _The U.S. was sending supplies to the Allied Powers, but the Germans were sinking the cargo ships. Because the Allied Powers never got their items, they didn't pay the Americans, and the U.S. lost a lot of money. One devastating loss was the sinking of the Lusitania, a ship carrying Americans. America was already angry at Germany for this, and the final straw was when Germany sent Mexico the Zimmerman Telegram. The Zimmerman Telegram said that Germany would give Mexico American land after winning the war. The telegram prompted the U.S. to see Germany as an even bigger threat, and decided to enter the war. Woodrow Wilson stated that entering the war was for the sake of democracy._

 **Hope you enjoyed this (please tell me what you think). I decided to publish this today because school in New York starts tomorrow. This was inspired by someone on tumblr that said Racetrack would be the kind of guy to annoy the subs and get everything right...I completely agree with that statement.**

 **This is one of at least three stories taking place in modern times. I have two others planned, but I might come up with more. The next story will be "Les' Embarrassing Day."**


	2. Les' Embarrassing Day

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies**

The alarm clock blared, ringing seven-thrity in the morning. Les ran to the other side of the room to turn it off. The weird layout of the new apartment meant that he couldn't leave it on his bedside table and hit the snooze a million times like at his old home. But hey, he didn't care much (except on the weekends). His throat was still sore from yesterday, and he shook his head, annoyed at himself for running so fast.

He looked over to the bed on the other side of the room. It was empty. David, his older brother, was probably making breakfast. That meant his parents were out of the house. Les threw changed into his day clothes and headed to the living room, stifling a yawn. Sure enough, his father was gone. Already at work. His mother was chatting on her cellphone, one foot already out the door. She usually worked at home, but it wasn't uncommon to see her scrambling in the mornings to get to a meeting. She waved a quick goodbye, blew a kiss to her sons, and left.

Les peered into the kitchen. David was preparing eggs. To pass the time, Les walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He ran a quick comb through his hair (showing up with messy hair is considered a cardinal sin) and went back to the kitchen. David slid the food onto a plate and plopped it on the table. Les picked at the food and only had a few bites. David tried to get him to eat more. Their mother would have a fit if Les didn't have his breakfast.

"C'mon Les, you have to eat," he urged.

"I'm just not hungry," Les shrugged, pushing the sausage off to the side. His stomach kind of hurt. Like something was trying to push its way out. The idea of swallowing food was nauseating. It required effort to not spit everything into a napkin. Besides, his annoying throat wasn't a fan of the swallowing.

"You have to eat something."

"I did." Les pointed to the half eaten sausage and took a bite of the eggs. Hopefully that would get David to let it go. He wanted to leave already.

"Fine." David huffed. "Let's go, we're running late." Les slipped out of his chair and grabbed his backpack on the way to the door, for once, glad that he only had thirty minutes to get ready in the morning. "And be sure to eat all your lunch," David added. Les nodded, even though he didn't mean it.

The bus was not Les' friend in the best of times, and it seemed particularly awful that day. It was extra crowded, and he felt uncomfortable and yucky. He wished he could find a seat, but none were available. The twenty-minute ride seemed to longer than usual. At the very least, it was better than the Subway. He was always squished, sitting down or standing up. And transferring trains was annoying. He hated being grabbed by the hand and dragged over to the train across the platform (if he were lucky enough to not have to wait). Yes, it was faster, but the bus was a large step up. And sometimes he would see Luna on the bus. She was a friend from school. He was glad the train station was too far away from school.

David poked Les, signally that it was time to get off. He tripped on his feet on his way out the door. The fresh air was a step up from being underground, but three blocks and an avenue seemed a lot longer than usual. The streets appeared endless. David dropped Les off at the elementary school, and Les walked upstairs to his class. The six flights of stairs were dizzying, but at least the walk would be over soon.

He relaxed back into his seat, waved a quick hello to Luna, and slouched even deeper. The day seemed to drag on and on. Every moment seemed to be more painful than the last. He didn't hadn't felt too good when he woke up, and that stomachache was gradually getting worse as well. Especially around math, but that could've just been his hatred of numbers.

It happened about ten minutes before lunch. It was English and the class was reading passages out of a book. At this point, Les had declared that he was sick. His was nauseous, he was half asleep, and he just felt plain terrible. He could've asked to go to the nurse, but didn't want to be a bother. And he thought that he could survive the day. The teacher called on him. "Les, it's your turn to read." The room was sweltering. There was a churning in his stomach, and it hurt more than ever. Like something was going to burst out any minute. No, any second. This was not the first time he had this sensation, but it was the first time it happened at school. "Les?" the teacher repeated.

"Mrs. Glascov I'm think I'm gonna puke!" he screamed.

Mrs. Glascov's eyes grew larger and she motioned to outside. Les got the message and walked out. The bathroom was at the other end of the hall. He walked as fast as he could, for running was not permitted in the hallways. Even in a dire situation, he would not break school code, for at the time, he lacked the ability to discern whether or not rules should be followed. If only he did. For time was running out, and it was bound to happen any moment.

A few classmates looked out the door watching him, despite the teacher's attempts to usher them back inside. All eyes watched to see if he could make it. "Run Les! Run!" Luna yelled. And Les did just that. He ran faster than his legs could carry him, as far as he could before the inedible accident. But it was no use. Now in the center of the hallway, he dropped to his knees and coughed out the vomit. Everyone tried to push their way out of the classrooms to see him. Not just in his class, but in every grade. He had an audience now. Les kept throwing up, wishing and praying for the humiliation to end.

It didn't last for long, but it felt like it happened for hours. He looked up to see the faces of multiple students. Some he knew, some he didn't. Not that it mattered. He was a fifth grader, an upperclassman, and he had puked in front of both his entire class, _and_ the younger grades. He was supposed to be cool and smart. Not anymore. He was so embarrassed and wanted to cry. But that would've made things worse.

Mrs. Glascov burst out the door with a washcloth and Les' backpack. She handed both of it to him and looked around. She motioned to Tommy Parker, a boy also in the fifth grade. She swiftly asked, "Can you take Les to the nurse?" helping the poor boy back onto his feet.

Tommy nodded and the two started the journey to the stairs. Les could hear the whispers and the laughter. It was quiet, but he could hear it just the same. Some cupped their hands over their mouths and pretended to throw up. The teachers didn't seem to notice. He would never be able to live it down. As they got to the end of the hall, Tommy whispered to him "Barf Boy." Looking back upon the situation, Les laughed. It was a pathetic nickname. In that moment however, it was terrible.

"Feel better!" Luna called out as he left. But Les couldn't hear her. Not with the memory of mocking faces so strong in his mind.

He had finally made it to the nurse's office. He felt a slightly better, but still yucky and sick. The door was open and Tommy knocked. "Les Jacobs?" the nurse asked.

Les gave a slight nod and Tommy went back upstairs. "Barf Boy," he snickered.

Les bowed his head down and walked inside. There was a cot inside and she told him to sit on it. "Your teacher called earlier. Said you puked," she walked over to a drawer. Les nodded again and she took out a thermometer. "Open." Les opened his mouth, she put it under his tongue and they waited. "One hundred one point two," she announced reading it. "You get to go home." At the very least, he didn't have to spend an entire day of being called Barf Boy. That wouldn't happen until he returned to school in a few days...

Les groaned and laid back down in the cot. He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander. The events of what just happened played over and over again in his mind. Each scenario was slightly different, worse than the last. Sometimes even the teachers laughed. Sometimes kids from the other floors joined in. Sometimes everyone called him Barf Boy, even Luna and his friends. He tried to remember what had actually happened, but didn't have the energy, and he was trapped in a cycle of pure humiliation.

He heard the nurse talking. "Les? Les?" He opened his eyes. He had been sleeping. "You're mom's here."

He sat up straight and his mom came in. "Oh my poor baby." She gave him a hug. "I would've come sooner, but the clients have been breathing down my back all morning." She chuckled. "Why didn't you tell David you felt sick?" Les just shrugged. He didn't feel like talking, nor did he know the answer. "Okay, come on."

He got home and went into his bed. In the taxicab (a sympathy present), his mother had offered to spend the day with him, but he simply said he wanted to sleep. So she just gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and shut the lights, leaving him alone for the rest of the day. He wandered in a weird stage between awake and asleep, having a hard time telling the difference between the two. He could faintly hear his mother typing on her laptop in the next room.

Hours later, he heard a small knock on the door. "Les?" He could tell it was David. "Can I come in?" he asked quietly. Les sat himself up against the back of the bed and nodded. David turned the light on and sat across from him on the second bed. Les looked at the clock.

"It's three o'clock. Why are you here so early?"

"Mom texted that you were sick, so I skipped Newspaper." David shrugged. "Not a big deal. So what happened?"

"You don't want to know."

"It can't be that bad."

"Oh, it is. I was about to puke, so I tried to go to the bathroom, but I didn't make it in time. People started coming out of the classrooms, and I threw up in front of them all. People were laughing. Someone even called me Barf Boy." He went under the covers. "Bet that'll stick forever," he added glumly.

"Les, it won't. That happens to lots of people."

"Not in front of a third of the school." Les would not show his face. The words were muffled from the blanket. He was obviously upset, and David didn't want him to be. He wanted him to understand that it wasn't really a big deal. But it wasn't working.

"Everyone gets embarrassed," David shrugged in an attempt to make Les feel better. "It's happened to me," he added on. It wasn't working. So he tried a little bit harder. "It happened to Jack."

"Jack?" Les shot himself up. He wanted to hear _this_ story. David knew he couldn't resist something about his friends.

"Yeah. He was just about your age when it happened he told me. There was this giant spelling bee, his first year at middle school. He's nervous, steps up the podium, opens his mouth, and barfs in front of two hundred people."

"Wow..."

"Yep. And Race. He accidentally broke the gym teacher's nose in a game of dodgeball. Mush had a story too. He had braces in middle school. The first day he had rubber bands, it hurt so bad, he cried in the halfway through lunch. Bawled in front of everyone. Specs screamed right in the middle of Spanish class after he thought he saw a ghost outside the window. Chocolate melted in Skittery's back pocket, and it looked like he pooped his pants. Blink burned himself in the middle of bio. I was actually there for those three." And now it was time to move on to the junior class. "Someone sent a video of Spot lip syncing to pop music online. It went viral. Crutchy knocked down three people as he toppled down the stairs. Snitch fell asleep, and everyone saw him sucking his thumb. Called him names all year. Pie-Eater's little sister beat him to the ground in the courtyard. And Sarah told me about this one time her bra fell down through her shirt and onto the floor..." He wasn't sure if she would be too pleased at the retelling of that story, despite the circumstances. "Look, the point is, everyone gets embarrassed. And honestly, no one cares."

* * *

So Les did get better, and he returned to school four days later. Everything was back to normal, no one made fun of him. That day, David chatted with his friends in the hallway.

"Glad the little kid's okay," Racetrack put books into his locker.

"Yeah, he was really upset that first day. I had to go through embarrassing stories about you guys."

Jack dropped his book and cursed under his breath. Racetrack's locker swung closed. Spot looked up from his texting, and the others were listening more carefully.

Jack nervously cleared his throat. "Like, um, like what?"

"Just stuff that happened in school. What you guys told me." A look of slight panic fell amongst the boys. Just what did David tell Les? "Relax guys, it's not like he'll tell anyone."

Racetrack played back the memory of that day in dodgeball. The teacher that Specs had forgotten so long ago was suddenly crystal clear in his mind. Jack felt a sour taste in his mouth. Crutchy gripped his crutches more tightly. Spot put his baseball cap over his eyes. They knew exactly what David had told Les. And no one wanted to be reminded of the stories.

Jack had a look. A look that questioned you, tested you, got inside your head and made you spill out the truth. He used it. A smirk appearing on the side of his lips and his eyes pinched a little closer together. "So, David. What's your embarrassing story?"

"Um..."

 **I think that every kid has either seen, or had to deal with, a situation similar to this, which is why I decided to write it. But** **this is not my best work, but it could be worse. I'm also sorry for the wait. I had every intention of writing this sooner, but it just never happened. I plan on writing one more short story in modern times, but I may write more depending on what I feel like.** **Anyway, thank you for reading, and please tell me what you think.**

 **Thank you to theater104 and SuperNovKim for reviewing :)**


	3. White Elephant

"Okay, so, remind me again how this works?" Jack asked. Swifty was hosting a game of white elephant but the boys weren't entirely sure how it was going to work.

"It's simple. All of your names, are in this bag," Swifty took the dark green sack and gave it a shake. "I pick one out, and whoever's called can either open a new present," he gestured to the pile of gifts in the center "or steal one someone else has. And if your present is stolen, you have to pick a new one. No stealing. Any questions?"

"Can I not play?" David asked. He had no interest whatsoever, and it seemed boring.

"You can't, I already put your name in," Jack smirked. David sighed, yet again, the victim of one of Jack's plans. If only his friend hadn't been so intrigued by the idea of white elephant.

"Can I play!" Les asked. He hadn't known about the game when Jack announced it, and he wanted a chance to be in it.

"Just take my turn," David shrugged.

And so, the game began. There were ten boxes, one for each person, on the table. Crutchy, Jack, Mush, Blink, Spot, his sister Anna, David, Sarah, Swifty, Race, and his sister Eleanor, were in it. Les was on the sidelines, an honorary player. They eleven sat around the the presents. Swifty took out the first name.

"Crutchy's first," he announced. And Crutchy picked his gift. It was a white box in a plastic bag. The white box had the front diagonal angle of a black video camera, and sure enough, when he opened it, he found a small camcorder.

Swifty took out the next name. "It's me." He took Crutchy's gift. "And I steal." There were collective "Oohs," and good-natured laughs. No one expected a steal to happen so early. Crutchy was disappointed a little. He liked that present. But he was a good sport about it. He put on a smile, handed it over, and took a second box, glad that he would still get something something nice. Swifty pressed the "record" button.

The new box was rectangular, wrapped in silver paper with circles and a red bow. He tore it open as fast as possible, not wanting the game to last too long. It was a box of fancy chocolates, receiving another handful of "Oohs," and "Ahs". David hoped that people would stop. It was getting annoying.

Mush and Blink's mouths were watering. They wanted that candy. It was Blink's turn next, and in a great surprise, he took it from him. "And Ballatt for the steal!" Swifty exclaimed. A double steal was rare. All the boys laughed and high-fived each other, but not for long. The game had to move on.

Crutchy opened up the next gift, wrapped in purple with a gold bow. Inside was a nice fantasy novel. With witches and wizards and epic battles and even a little sci-fi. It was a nice book.

Eleanor's turn was next. Racetrack had suggested she pick the big red box, as those usually held the best stuff. But she had a good feeling about little tiny plaid one. With slight hesitation, she trusted her gut, and pick the one she wanted. She ripped through the paper, not exactly worrying about time, but eager to see what was inside.

It was a CD of old songs she absolutely _loved_ and a tin labelled "double chocolate cookie". She knew she made the right choice.

Unfortunately, Spot was up next. "Sorry to burst your bubble Elle, but" he decided to continue the steals and took it from her, eating the cookie right away.

Eleanor squinted her eyes, gave a little smirk and whispered, "Well played Conlon. Well played." She met eyes with Racetrack and reached into the pile. Of course, she could've taken her brother's advice about the red box, but decided in favor of picking the yellow envelope. In it, was a thirty-five dollar gift card to Gap. Obviously, she would've preferred the CD (and the cookie...), but things were turning out quite nicely.

"Anna, your turn."

Anna's favorite color was pink (like her pointe shoes), and she thought that the pretty pink envelope would be good luck. She was drawn to it, and chose it. She untied the silver bow, took a nearby letter opener, and cut the top. Inside, was a coupon for a free pedicure at Nellie's Nails at the mall. It was not the kind of thing you could pull out of newspaper. It was a decent gift, but Anna groaned. She was hoping she could get something else. But no, it wasn't possible.

"Aw, the pedicure is going to ruin my callouses." Everyone laughed. "It's not funny! It makes it harder to dance." The laughing started to die down. "Sorry, to the person who put this in the pile." (That person was Blink, who was not offended, as he didn't know there would be girls in the game and put it in there as a joke.) She moved over to Les and whispered something in his ear.

"Okay, Sarah's up."

"I steal the book," she replied. She bent over across the table to take it. "Sorry Crutchy." Poor Crutchy had been stolen from twice already. She gave him an apologetic look. He was understanding at least, and knowing that she would enjoy it, was happy about it as well. (He just hoped that he would get to _keep_ the gift he picked that time. He had to switch so many times, it was not a nice feeling.)

He decided to take the big gold box with a red ribbon. It seemed very festive. He slid off the bow and opened the cover, revealing a red holiday sweater with a snowman. It was handmade, sewn with experienced fingers, obviously Sarah's handy-work. It was the kind of sweater everyone laughed at and saw as embarrassing, but to Crutchy, it was the best present opened by far, and he loved it.

"Mush."

"And, _I_ steal the book."

"Oh, Mush wants to read something that _finally_ isn't a romance novel," Blink joked. Everyone laughed. Mush had gotten his name from liking gooey _mush_ y love stuff.

Sarah had to pick a new gift. It was a plain white box. No bow, no wrapping paper, tissue paper, no bag, just a plain white box. It was like the box that had the camcorder in it (without a picture). She opened it, gave a little surprised, "Oh," and cleared her throat. It was a mug. Shaped like a toilet.

 _That's what I get for stealing from the nice guy,_ she thought. But she was not one to be ungrateful, and tried her best not to show that she didn't really like it. It just wasn't her style.

"Jack, your go."

"I got a good feeling about this one," Jack grinned, heading towards a thin brown box. Getting through the tape was a little hard, but he pried it open, revealing a science book. He knew it had come from David.

"Aw, I was hoping it would be something _fun,_ " he teased.

"Just read it," David rolled his eyes.

"And it's your turn next."

David took it upon himself to explain the directions to Les. "It's up to you. Do you want to open that last gift, or steal?"

"I steal...The pedicure!"

"What?" David was confused. As was everyone. Boys didn't typically get their nails done...But David just let his brother have it, not wanting to question it too much.

"And last person, Racetrack."

"I'm going to steal the CD."

Spot sat across from him. As he walked over, he gave Eleanor a high five.

"The gift card I received is going to help me buy items for the clothing drive at school," Eleanor announced. Then she asked Racetrack if they could go to the cookie place later. She was hoping to get back the one Spot ate.

Spot took the last present, the big red box. And just as Racetrack had thought it would be the best gift, it really was. A nice black coat. Figures the king of Brooklyn gets the best thing. But Eleanor had played her cards right and got the best deal of everyone. "Well-played Higgins," he whispered. "Well-played."

Les high-fived Anna.

"What was that for?" David asked. "And why'd you pick the pedicure?"

"This is Mom's Christmas present and she gave me five bucks," he smirked.

And so wrapped up their game of white elephant.

 **Author's Note: I apologize if it is not as good as the other two stories. And sorry for not updating sooner. I'll try my best to finish the next installment, and then I'll write more over the summer. Thank you for reading :) And thank you to biankies, theater104, and HJG for reviewing.**


	4. Spot's Secret

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies**

Spot Conlon was known for having many secrets. Heck, half of his friends didn't even know his name was Luke. But he had one _very_ special secret. He had kept it hidden for years. No friend knew of it. This is how it came out.

The posters showed up the Monday morning after Thanksgiving. They were everywhere. On the pillars of the cafeteria, on every turn of the stairwell, on the notice board outside the gym, and _conveniently,_ outside the door of his homeroom. Ms. Larksin even told it to everyone in the morning announcements. Yes, there was escaping it. Spot was reminded of it a dozen times a day: the school play auditions.

Of course, the big, bad, tough, Spot Conlon would _never_ audition for the school play. No no no. Perhaps to mock the drama geeks (a group he is certainly not part of!), or try his hand at tech crew, but never with the intention of trying to get a part. He would never, not in a million years, audition for the student-written musical _The Best Film Ever_ in two weeks (which just happened to be the right amount of time to find and perfect a good audition song...not that it mattered). So he could simply ignore the posters. The past week, he just breezed past them. They didn't matter. He didn't need to know the information, because he didn't need to try out. Not in this life. He wasn't going to. He wasn't going to.

Strange things happened after that first week...

* * *

 _Saturday (six days until the school play audition for juniors):_

It was a tired and quiet day. Spot's little sister Anna was working on homework and his mother was out doing errands. Jack had said something on Friday about the seniors on the school paper working on a special article, and when Spot texted Racetrack if he wanted to do anything, he got a reply saying: _Busy today, doing a big project. Sorry-_ _see you tomorrow._ So he had no one to hang out with.

He finished his homework and chores yesterday, refreshed his various social media websites five times, and there was nothing good on TV. He was bored with nothing to do. Sprawled out on the couch, his mind swirled and he was about to fall asleep. Amidst his unfiltered and sleep deprived mind, he thought of a song from his childhood. The tune was so familiar and strong in his mind, but he could not remember its name. His mother had played it for him on the piano when he was younger (which they had long since replaced with a keyboard), and he could remember that she said something about New York...

The twenty plus years of sheet music she had acquired were sitting right in front of him across the room. He made it his mission to find the song, even if that meant going through each and every paper. But years of guitar lessons (and living in a family of musical theatre people) had given him some basic knowledge of sight singing. Enough to know the general sound of new songs anyway. In the sea of musical notes, finding it nearly seemed impossible. But he had nothing better to do anyways, and his mind was fixated on that song. He had to find it.

With the word "New York" burned in his mind, he skimmed the lyrics for anything and everything involving New York City, even if it only showed up once. He took out songs about leaving home, folded pages in a book of nursery rhymes, and gawked at the excessive amount of cheesy love songs that mentioned places from the city. Everything he had collected added up to at least two dozen songs, if not more. He had gone through a lot to get that list. The pile of discarded sheet music created a large mountain on the floor, as big as him when sitting down.

And so began his combination of singing, guitar-playing, and YouTube watching, trying the three tactics to listen to the songs. Unfortunately, not a single one jogged his memory. While he could remember some of them vaguely, they were not the one he thought of earlier. And now he had to look through the mess he made...He sighed and shook his head, but wasn't ready to throw in the towel. He had worked too long to find that song, he was not giving up now.

He went through every song and songbook in the room, listening to them all. And when he completed those too, he flopped down on the floor absolutely ready to give up. He had looked at approximately seventy-four songs. He had started around noon, and by the time he was almost done, it was only a few hours until dinner. He was hungry and wanted to stop.

But he decided to think back first. He searched his mind for a clue. Anything from his childhood regarding music (and there was a lot of it). Then he remembered. His mother hadn't said the song was about New York. She said it was about their home. He slapped himself in the face. The song was not about New York, or Brooklyn, or Manhattan. It was about Chicago, Illinois. She was born and raised there. He lived there for five years. And there was only one song about Chicago.

It rested at the very top of the pile. It was first one he had seen after the first round of his process of elimination. "Chicago That Toddlin' Town" by a man named Fred Fisher. And after looking at the sheet music, it was confirmed that that it was indeed, the song he was searching for. The sweet relief he felt is indescribable.

* * *

 _Monday (four days until the school play audition for juniors):_

"What are you doing?" Jack laughed as he chewed on his salad. Spot looked up from his food. Jack had been referring to him.

Spot was thinking. It was a quick blank out. What exactly _had_ he been doing? Well, Race was talking about his sister, and he had zoned out, and started thinking of songs from the _Wizard of Oz_ , and oh shoot, he had been singing. (Tap dancing under the table too, luckily no one noticed). Of course. They were old habits. They hadn't flared up since the beginning of middle school (in which he stopped because that's when the teasing started). So why did they come back now?

"I was just eating my sandwich," he replied with fake confusion. He knew full well had happened but hoped the denial would make things seem a little bit better.

"No, no, you were singing," Swifty put in. He gave a sly smile. Everyone seemed to get a kick out of it. Just great.

"Yeah you were," David nodded. At the very least, he didn't laugh at Spot for it.

"Remember when you sang that pop thing on YouTube?" Mush brought up. Spot gave him a blank stare, but cringed inside. He did not want to remember that. "Who knew you could go so high!"

Everyone at the table started singing, but Spot just smirked and punched the nearest person (Specs) in the shoulder. Just a _little_ bit to hard. Just a little.

Even though David was nice about it, Spot couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Yes, he loved music and singing, anything on the stage really, but he never liked to show it. Theatre geeks weren't exactly well-liked, and although he wasn't under that category, singing during lunch would have the same effect. He looked down and proceeded to eat the rest of his food in silence. He could hear the rest of the conversation though, which had moved on to another topic.

"Hey Dave, how's Sarah doing?" Jack asked.

"Locked up in her room doing homework, swearing off on all technology until she is done." That was a lot like Sarah. She always seemed to be busy with something. Usually it was related to the various community service clubs she joined (or ran).

"Well that explains why she takes so long to text back. She takes too many AP's."

"Sisters are weird like that," David shrugged.

"You can say that again. Every Friday, Eleanor makes me drive her all the way to the Brooklyn for indoor football." Racetrack rolled his eyes. Although he was proud of her athleticism, he was not a fan of the commute. "Dedication."

"My sister is obsessed with musical theatre," Spot put in. "I hear her practicing scales and songs like a million times a day. I've seen her up at four in the morning banging books on her pointe shoes because 'they weren't broken in yet.' She lives and breathes Broadway." Anna had choir, private singing lessons, ballet, jazz, tap, acting lessons, competitions, at _least_ one play a year, and a part-time job to pay for the cost (most of which was taken care of by her work, financial aid, and scholarships.)

"That reminds me, did you guys hear about the school play auditions?" Race mentioned. "The freshman go on Thursday." Spot felt a little jolt. It was hard to keep up his usual cold demeanor. But why act so weird over a simple comment about the school play auditions? He didn't have to worry about it. At all. Right...? He began to imagine what his song would be. Probably the one by Fred Fisher he found two days ago. But, that didn't matter. Not at all.

* * *

 _Thursday (one day before the school play audition for juniors):_

 _Is that a sharp or a flat?_ Spot thought to himself, seeing a weird symbol next to a note on the sheet music. He had thought something was a little funny with the song before. He had been singing it a lot lately. Every day after school actually. _Well it's definitely a sharp, (thank you guitar) but does that mean it's higher or lower...?_ He opened up his laptop and typed up: _What is a sharp note?_ Of course, that day of all days, the wifi was down. "Mom!" he called out. She would know the answer.

"What is it?" she answered, from the bedroom.

"What's the difference between a sharp note and a flat note?"

"Is this for homework?"

"No."

"Then I'm not telling."

Spot rolled his eyes. Typical annoying Mom.

"Is it for school play auditions?" Anna bounded into the room.

"No." There were moments when Anna looked younger. She wasn't the fifteen-year-old sophomore that spent every hour either working, doing schoolwork, or practicing. She was a ten-year-old brat that still cuddled her teddy bear, trembled from thunderstorms, and annoyed the snot out of you. That part of herself wasn't fully gone yet. And he could see it right then. She could tell he wasn't convinced with his answer. So she simply laughed and took the paper from him.

"It's a sharp," she replied. She flipped over to the first page. "Chicago, Chicago, that toddlin town," she began to sing. "Chicago, Chicago, I'll show you around."

"You'll stay around" Spot joined in. "Bet your bottom dollar you'll lose the blues in Chicago." He snapped his fingers to give them a beat. Anna began to tap dance, somehow managing to sight read while doing flaps. Even Spot joined in for a few moves. He played around with his lower body, doing some fancy footwork. He gave little kicks and spun in circles, using his hands on occasion. It was so much fun. They shared the sheet music, continuing the song until the very end when they both crashed onto the couch.

"Oh, to Chicago, Chicago my hometown!" they finished. Spot couldn't help but smile.

"That was fun," Anna said.

"It was," he agreed. The adrenaline hadn't worn off yet. He hadn't done that in so long, it felt nice to get back in the groove. There's nothing like singing at the top of your lungs without the fear of being judged. It felt good.

"So _are_ you auditioning?" she asked. Spot had expected that question. He himself was wondering if he should.

"I still don't know. I can't decide."

"Decide what?" she challenged.

"I don't know, theatre really my thing. I'm not sure if I would like it."

"It's just an audition. It doesn't mean anything." She didn't believe him. Not one bit.

"It means something to my friends. They think musicals are lame." He had done his share of it when he was younger. He used to take ballet and jazz and sing around the house. He was even in two plays. But nobody appreciated it like he did and he just stopped.

"What does it matter what they think? It only matters what you think." There was a pause. "Do what makes you happy," she declared. "It's why I chose not to go to SPA and why I didn't re-audition this year. When I got into School of Performing Arts, everyone was ecstatic. They were so proud. They thought it was my greatest achievement. No one understood why I didn't go." Spot didn't know why either. The stage was her entire life, he figured that she would go to school for it. "But I knew I made the right choice. I love singing. I love dancing. I love drama. But I wasn't sure I wanted it to be my career. I wanted to keep my options open while staying in theatre. I wanted to stay with my close friends and make new ones. I wanted to be happy in school, like you. I wouldn't get that at SPA, so I went to Manhattan Tech. People said I would regret it, that I should've re-auditioned last year. But here I am, almost halfway through high school, and I love it. I didn't listen to them, I did what I thought was right. And you should too. Ask yourself this, are you not auditioning because you don't want to? Or because your friends think it's lame. Looks to me like it's the second option." She looked at the clock. It was time for dance class. "I have to go." She waved goodbye. "See you."

Spot wondered if she was right.

He walked back to his bedroom. "Luke," his mom entered. She was holding a large brown box. "Can you keep this in your room?" Space in the tiny apartment could be an issue at times. But it could fit in his room.

"Sure." Spot nodded and took the box from her. It was kind of heavy, probably packed wrong. He set it against the wall and she left. Using a pointy part of the nail clipper, he broke through the duct tape (a trick he learned from the move a few years ago). Inside was a collection of various knicknacks. Ballet slippers, books, ticket stubs, an old flip phone, a pair of sunglasses, two hairbrushes, a hairdryer, and scattered pens and pencils. Lying in the corner was a pile of CDs.

Curious, he dusted one off and put it into the computer. He set it up and began to watch it. It was about forty minutes, not too bad. He didn't know what it was about though. The CD wasn't labeled.

Within the fist minute, he knew what it was. It was a play from when he was in pre-school school, when it wasn't considered lame to act. It was a short show about a weird circus. Complete with silly clowns, "deadly" animals, and a summersault that was considered one of the most impressive moves of the night. Spot played a lion that attempted (emphasis on attempted) to juggle scarves and did a cute little dance. The entire show was the worst thing on the planet (at least Spot thought so), but instead of rolling his eyes, he simply watched it. Yes, it was terrible, but it was obvious that little Spot was having fun.

Spot remembered what it was like. Rehearsals on the stage, trying to sing over the piano in the choir room, the awkward stretching at the ballet barre, the craziness of costume day. He kind of missed it.

Of course, that didn't matter anymore. Musical theatre was all behind him. He had tried so hard to convince himself that he didn't care about it anymore. But now he wasn't so sure how he felt. Singing at lunch, looking up that song, dancing with Anna, watching that show, and that was just in that past _week_. Looking back, there always seemed to be something about musical theatre in his life. From keeping up to date with the latest shows, to singing the occasional duet with Anna, to that thing in ninth grade when his friends banned listening to show tunes during lunch...It was always there. He grew up in a family of theatre geeks, it was in his blood.

And he thought that maybe it wouldn't be crazy to audition for the school play.

* * *

 _The Audition_

The next day after school was nerve-wracking. He paced outside the auditorium doors for a second, considering if he should go through with it. But he got the feeling that he just couldn't _not_ go. He did a quick look-around to make sure none of his friends were around. The coast was clear. He walked inside, nerves flying, heart pounding.

The first thing he noticed was the table. Two techies were behind it, in charge of the sign-out sheet. Luckily, they were seniors and didn't know him. So he wrote out his name and sat with everyone else in the seats near the stage. The panel of judges were in the center of the room, including the drama teacher, guidance counselor, an English teacher, and the freshman science teacher (who also ran the dance club and glee club). Weird, because he thought there were supposed to be five people.

Spot was number fourteen (out of thirty-two people, eleven of which were guys). And he, (although he refused to admit it) was scared. Terrified even. He hadn't performed in front of people in years. His voice could crack. He could forget the lyrics. Everyone could hate his voice. But Spot Conlon couldn't show any fear or weakness. Ever. At least he got some acting practice by keeping a blank face.

He turned around to look behind him. It was Racetrack. And suddenly Spot's mind did a little jolt. He turned around back to the front and slouched lower in his seat, hoping Race wouldn't notice him. He was talking to Ms. Larksin about something. But when Spot turned around again, he was gone. He left. Spot breathed a sigh of relief and sat up straighter. His turn would be up soon.

The auditions went by quickly, as they were only a minute long each, and it wasn't long before he was next. Trying to seem casual, he walked center stage and waited for the teachers to give the word. "What will you be singing?" Ms. Larksin asked.

"'Chicago That Toddlin' Town' by Fred Fisher," he replied, wiping his sweating palms on his pants.

Each judge took out a comments worksheet. "Okay, whenever you're ready."

Spot started out on the second verse, with a deep breath. The louder you start, the louder the whole song will be. "On State Street, that great street, I just wanna say, they do things they don't do on Broadway. Bring all your friends, all your kids and your wife to Chicago," he imagined all of them packing bags to go on a trip to Chicago. He found it funny, but didn't dare laugh. "Chicago my hometown. You'll have the time, the time of your life. Bring all your friends, all your kids and your wife to Chicago. Chicago my hometown. Oh, to Chicago, Chicago my hometown." The song had seemed a little lame at first, but it was growing on him, and he did kind of like it. It was a guilty pleasure. He felt kind of like an old-timey singer, like Frank Sinatra. It was cool. And he did particularly better than usual (that tended to happen when performing for an audience.) Spot got in the play as the lead.

* * *

 _First Rehearsal_

Spot and the other members of the drama club sat around in chairs, waiting for Ms. Larksin to arrive. The door opened, and they all hoped it was her. But nope, it was Racetrack. Spot got really panicky all of a sudden. He tried to come up with a lie to explain why he was there, but decided that staying quiet would be the best option. But he threw out the plan immediately, because for some reason, "What are you doing here?" came out of his mouth.

"All people involved in the school play are in the meeting," Race replied. Spot didn't know what he was talking about. He hadn't seen him at the audition. Wait, no, he did, but only for a split second. He was talking to Mrs. Larksin..."I wrote it," he explained, sensing Spot's confusion.

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, the poster said that the show would be a "student-written musical called _The Best Film Ever_ " I talked about it before. It was the big project I was working on over the weekend. I've been watching the auditions. I saw you there you know. You need to work on your hiding skills."

"Wait, what happened, the day of my audition? You were there for like two seconds and left."

"I had to drive Eleanor to Brooklyn, like every Friday. I asked Ms. Larksin if that was okay, and she said it was, since I helped her all of the other days."

Everything was starting to add up. "And who knows that I'm in the school play?"

"All of our friends." Spot got nervous. "It's fine, it doesn't really matter to them. Jack's even in tech. He saw you at your audition before going into the other room for his. He's on the way right now."

Spot gave himself a mental slap in the head. All of the worrying about what his friends would think, and they didn't even care.

 **Author's Note: All of the stories in this are not in chronological order (if that were the case, this would be chapter two) but they all take place in the same year.**

 **The next chapter should come around Valentine's Day. And thanks biankies and theater104 for reviewing :)**


	5. I Hate One

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies**

"Are you almost done?" Jack rolled his eyes annoyed, spinning around in David's swivel chair. It was almost eight o'clock and there was a bowl of pretzels on the desk as a replacement for dinner. Jack had gone over to David's place to do homework. Jack had finished twenty minutes ago, but David still had math.

"I just have one more problem." He had answered it already, but he wanted to make sure it was right.

 _Multiply the six, add the four, gives you thirty-four, move two decimal points...final answer...34.05! Come on!_

"Are you kidding me right now?" David flopped down onto his bed. "I thought it would be the right answer," He had re-done the problem and checked it, getting the same two answers each time. But the two numbers didn't match up with each other. It was so annoying, he didn't know what was wrong.

Jack walked over to him. "Let me take a crack at it."

"It's AP math, you won't get it."

 _Time to do that problem again. Multiply the six add four, equals thirty-four, move decimals, 34.05._

"Gah!" he screamed.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want me to look at it?" Jack asked with a hint of a smirk.

"Yes, I am sure." There was no way David was going to let Jack look at this. David was sure he could figure it out. He seemed a little tense and annoyed before, but had calmed down after the recent outburst. He was fine now...sort of.

"Ok _aay_ _,_ " Jack replied in a high sing-song voice, taking a handful of pretzels.

David did the problem again and again. Until the paper was covered in eraser shavings and the section of the paper was gray with multiple holes. Each time he did it, he only got more and more agitated. The untidiness added to it. The frustration kept getting stronger in his brain, multiplying, as if it were about to burst. And it was so hard to deal with., the anger of not getting that simple problem right. He just wanted to pull out his hair or gouge his eyes out or bang his head against the wall. He did the problem faster and faster, faster and faster, never getting the right answer. He just couldn't let it go. It added to the cycle of an increasingly bad (and long) homework session. The whole thing was torturous.

"Take a quick break, you can get back to it later, I want dinner," Jack complained.

"Just shut up so I can focus." He wanted to get the work done. Although his head hurt and everything was going lightning fast, he somehow managed to maintain a seemingly calm composure. Of course, Jack knew better.

"I'll take that thank you very much," he grabbed the paper.

"Hey!"

Jack skimmed it. "You did the check wrong."

"What?"

"You did the check wrong. You didn't carry the one."

David took the worksheet back. _Six point eighty-three times five. Five times three equals fifteen. Eight times five equals forty. Six times five, wait, I have to carry the one. Carry the one...Makes forty-one. Multiply the six times five, makes thirty, carry the four, decimals...thirty-four point fifteen...Just like the answer I got. Of course. Jack had to be right._

"Oh." All of the madness over a tiny error.

Jack noticed David's face. "Told you," he teased. It felt kind of nice to surprise him like that. _You don't need to take AP math to figure that out,_ Jack thought. _I told you taking a break would help, ha ha._ "Now I'm going to order a pizza." He picked up the phone, slid over to David's bed, and flipped over the paper. "And you do realize that you have ten more problems to do, right?"

"I hate one."

 **Author's Note:**

 **Anyone else experience the same thing?**

 **Biankies, theater104, and Guest, thank you for the reviews. It really means a lot :) And** **Spot, Jack, and Race, will be in a play (just not the same one, he he).**


	6. Skittery's Bad Day

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.**

Bad days form at the rotten of the core, before they even really start. Skittery's began from the moment he woke up, twenty minutes late. He had slept through the alarm.

A quick note about Skittery, he can't spend a single morning without his coffee. But he knew that he would be late if he made a cup, or even a proper breakfast. He tugged on jeans and the first t-shirt he saw on his bed (it happened to have a stain on it), brushed his teeth (if you could even call the light scrubbing brushing) and grabbed some breakfast, and ran out the door. He had taken a tiny granola bar one of Nathan's juice boxes ("breakfast of champions," he mumbled to himself.)

When he walked outside to the hallway, and pressed the button to get the elevator, he was especially annoyed to see that the screen (that usually said what floor it was on,) was blank. The elevator was broken, and it probably wouldn't work for two days. He shrugged it off, turning to the stairs instead. But as he walked down the last step, one of the Crammer boys picked _that_ moment to throw their ball, and aimed it at the wrong direction. Skittery's head. It wasn't exactly intended, but they laughed, and Skittery mumbled "Rotten kids," under his breath before walking to school.

He made it just a minute before the bell rang, and all of the other students of homeroom were sitting down already. When he stood up to leave and they filed out into the hallway, his friends snickered at his shirt. The other classmates soon followed. "What, what is it?" He looked down. His shirt was both backwards, and inside out. "Shoot." He shook his head and rushed to the bathroom to fix it. When he did, and noticed the red ketchup stain, he took a detour to his locker for a hoodie.

"Jackson, you're late," Mr. Sleeter commented. Skittery just sat at his desk and shrugged. Mr. Sleeter was in no position to punish someone for tardiness. This was one of the few times he was on time for first period; he always overslept. (Which was why the students nicknamed him Mr. Sleeper. That, and other reasons.) "I'll let you off the hook today," he continued. _Yeah, cause we've done that to you a million times you lazy,_ Skittery thought to himself. "But next time, you're getting detention." _Looking forward to that._

"Anyway, um, just continue making your posters from yesterday. You have until the end of the period to finish, and remember, it's a project grade, so do well on it." And that is why Skittery had agreed to let Eliza Bell work on it with him. They were working in singles and pairs, and she hadn't wanted to do it alone. She was the most annoying girl in school, but she was also the smartest. Skittery could only barely understand the concepts of physics and he would need someone like her to make the poster. Although he did do some work, most of yesterday's class was just spent on him copying down what she told him to write.

But as luck would have it, she decided to ditch him. It happened while they were completing the poster in the hallway. She shrieked "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!" There was a giant spider near it.

"It's just a spider, what's the big,"

"I can't stand them!" she interrupted. "They're just, oh it's so gross!"

At her shrilly voice, Skittery rolled his eyes, took a nearby biology textbook, and squashed it. "There's it's gone now," he huffed. "You're so high maintenance." He quietly grumbled.

" _What,_ did you say to me?" She looked mad. _Extremely_ mad.

"Nothing."

"No, no, no, _you_ said I was 'high-maintenance'."

"Well," he wasn't going to deny it. He felt that what he said wasn't a lie, and he did actually make that comment.

"You can finish this on your own." She walked away, back to the classroom, leaving Skittery in the dust.

"I guess I deserve it." Not wanting to waste any time, he flipped through his notes to help, but they were a mess. Words and diagrams floated all over the page, with unexplained labels and descriptions to add to the confusion. Doodles provided an even bigger distraction. With a heavy sigh, he tried to do the assignment with logic. The idea was to explain the physics of a bowling, a sport he had done a few times. So it should've been easy right? Well, in the last thirty minutes of class he had, he only managed to scribble on two last minute details. When he handed the poster to Mr. Sleeper, he clearly wasn't pleased.

"Jackson, this is only half done!" Skittery didn't know what to say back. "You can make up the project later, maybe do some extra credit, but I'm afraid that for now, I can only give you a seventy."

 _Well that's just perfect,_ Skittery thought bitterly. His grade was going to go down by three percent. He just nodded, and walked away.

He had a free period next, and managed to summon the will to study in the library. He really, really, _really_ didn't want to. But he couldn't afford to get anything short of a ninety on his second chance, which he would be impossible without some review.

Knowing his notes were useless, he took a textbook from the science area. It was really jammed in there, and he pulled hard to take it out. It still wouldn't budge, and he tugged even harder. He managed to get it, it fell on floor, but so did about five others. It caused a loud stream of slams and a few students and the librarian whispered a collective "Sh." In response, Skittery, for the second time that day, rolled his eyes. A girl at a nearby table gave him a dirty look.

He cleaned up the mess. But as he walked to a chair, he managed to knock down one of the bookbinders, sending even more stuff to the ground. On top of it all, his cellphone rang. This time, everyone gave him a murderous look. He wasn't even going to bother to fix it, or turn off his phone. _Hit and run! Hit and run!_ He put the physics textbook back on the shelf, planning to get it later (he never did), and awkwardly left the room. The librarian shook her head.

By the time he was safely outside, the phone had already stopped. He huffed. If only it could've started just a few seconds later. He checked to see who had called, and was rather annoyed to find out it was his mother. She picked _that_ day, of all days, to talk instead of text, when he specifically told her not to do.

"What, what is it?" he **snapped,** when she called again.

"Um…Oh, is this a bad time?"

"I was in the library."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Next time, just send me a message."

"Noted." Skittery didn't one hundred percent believe she would remember. "So listen, one of the other waitresses had a family emergency, so I have to fill in for her. I'm gonna be at the restaurant a little later, so I need you to pick up Nathan after school and drop him off at Ryan's."

"But Mom, I'll have to miss Newspaper."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you I _promise._ I love you!"

"Love you too Mom. Bye." And they hung up.

Skittery always pretended to hate Newspaper, but the truth is, he actually didn't. It was the one place he could make fun of the world without anyone biting his head off. (No one ever bothered to look at the author of the articles). And the last thing he wanted to do after school was babysit his mom's boyfriend's son. But she worked so hard every day, it wouldn't be fair to say no.

Skittery went to his next period class. He slid into his seat, hoodie over his eyes, waiting for the day to end. He was hoping to just sleep walk over history, get a quick little break, but something had to ruin it. The two worst words a high school student may ever hear.

"Class, today, you have a _pop quiz._ " And Skittery was done. Just done. Wanted to jump out the window. Wanted to scream. Wanted to punch a wall. (Not that he did any of those things.)

The questions were on some complicated details over a war they had just learned yesterday. It wouldn't have been too bad if it was just multiple choice, but Kloppman gave them short answer with an essay in the back. Skittery was pretty sure he got the majority of the answers wrong, and his thesis was poorly thought out. The test took the whole period, and by the end of it, his brain was fried and he kept clenching his fists to ease his frustration.

What hurt the most was the comments that went "It was so easy!" "I finished it ten minutes early." "I definitely got an A." It burned, it actually hurt. Skittery was used to it, but that didn't make the pain much better.

After the final bell, Skittery headed down to the elementary school to collect Nathan and take him home. He was supposed to wait out at Nathan's apartment until Ryan could arrive from work. But that wasn't going to be for hours.

Luckily, Nathan was a good kid. He did his homework and played quietly. He asked Skittery if he could play cards, but when he refused, it wasn't much of a big deal. He moved on to do his own thing, playing with a toy robot, which was much appreciated.

Skittery was doing some calculus homework when his cellphone rang. "Again?" he complained, thinking it was his mother. "What does she want now?" He picked it up. "WHAT?"

"Skittery?"

"Oh, Julie." It was his friend. That was a little awkward. "Next time, please text."

"Next time check your messages." She laughed. Sure enough, there were notifications about that on his phone. "Sounds like you've had a rough day."

"Tell me about it," he groaned.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, just forget about it." He didn't feel that it was worth mentioning on the phone, calls cost money.

"You want me to come over?"

"Nah, I'm just doing a favor for my Mom."

"Ah, cool. When you're done, do you want to go get some ice cream at Frank's?" It was their Wednesday after-Newspaper tradition.

"I can't. I'm watching Nathan...and I think the little runt wants a snack." He was attempting to open up the peanut butter jar. "Anyway, Ryan's going to be gone for awhile, and I don't think I should take his son out without him knowing."

"Yeah, you're right. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Later."

Less than one hour later, there was a knock at the door. Skittery plopped his feet off of the coffee table and checked through the peephole. It was Julie. He let her in. "Hey," she greeted.

"Um, hi. What are you doing here?"

"Cause I know you dummy," she smirked. "You had a rotten day, and you kept it bottled inside. Luckily, you have a friend like me, who's going to get it outta you. I could tell you wanted to talk." She wagged his finger and Skittery took on a goofy lopsided grin. She could be so fun sometimes. "Now come on, I picked you up some ice cream."

"Double fudge nutty monkey with chocolate sprinkles?" Skittery checked. Julie nodded. It was his usual order. (Julie's was two scoops of Death By Chocolate.) "Just making sure."

As they ate their snack, he told her about everything. The unlucky morning, the annoying Eliza, the incident at the library, the pop quiz, and getting stuck babysitting. He honestly hadn't wanted a little therapy session, but he had to admit, it did feel good to let everything out.

And arguably, things weren't so bad after all. There were a lot of mishaps and miseries, the day sucked. But in the end, everything turned out fine. And Skittery got to hang out with his friend. At least something good came out of it. It wasn't perfect, but nothing ever is anyway.

 **Author's Note: So, _SO_** **sorry for the long wait. I plan on having the next updates come a lot sooner; the one I'm working on is LONG. I'm trying to wrap up the final chapters by the end of June.**

 **Thanks biankies, theater104, Jaywing25, and Anjion for reviewing the last chapter. :)**


	7. Katherine Part 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.**

 **Author's Note:**

 **1) I don't hate Katherine or Sarah. I like both characters, and I tried not to paint either of them in a bad light.**

 **2) The chapters are not in chronological order, but they all take place in the same year.**

"We have Mr. _Weasel_ next _,_ " Jack complained. "He's going to kill me for not doing the homework."

"Sucks for you," Race laughed.

"Aw, cheer up Jacky-Boy." Blink gave him a goofy smile and a slap on the back. Jack just rolled his eyes. Nothing involving Mr. Wiesel could be good. "You get to see Sarah after class!"

Now there was something to look forward to. Being a grade apart meant that Jack and Sarah couldn't see each other a lot in between classes. They were usually on opposite sides of the building. But on Mondays, in between sixth and seventh period, they could pass each other in the hallway. It was one of the four possible times a week, and Jack liked each of them.

"You two are _crazy_ about each other," Race mocked making kissing faces.

"That's, well, _you_ don't have a girlfriend." It might not have been the smartest comeback, but it was the only thing Jack could come up with.

Racetrack was right though. They really did like each other. The two were in a pretty steady relationship, and it had been going on for almost half a year. No one thought it would last that long, but it did. (It was rather surprising, considering Jack's history.) But that was in the past. He was about to see Sarah, and it really was a perk to boring Mondays.

As the five teens walked to class, they were greeted by a surprise- Crutchy. "Hey fellas." He seemed rather cheerful that day.

"What are you doing over here? Don't you have history?" Mush asked.

"I'm delivering something to the office," Crutchy explained. He was taking a shortcut.

Jack was about to head into the classroom when he noticed a pretty redhead walking by. For reasons he did not understand, the words, "Who's that?" came out of his mouth.

"Oh yeah, I think Spot said something about a new girl in the twelfth grade," Crutchy replied, remembering the homeroom from that morning.

"New girl, huh?" Jack thought to himself.

"You're dating Sarah, so don't get any ideas." Crutchy shot him a playful glare and everyone laughed. "Got to go. I'll see you guys later." He left. The others murmured goodbye and went inside.

When Jack got to his seat, he found himself sitting next to the new girl. He flashed one of his award-winning smiles. The same smile that made Sarah, and the many girls before her, swoon. (Not that he had any intention of wooing the new girl.)

"Hey, I'm Francis. But my friends call me Jack." The new girl gave a slight nod, but did not turn to face him. She put her backpack on her desk and took out a notebook and paper. She put the bag under her desk and stared straight forward at the board, ready to go. She was perfectly prepared and proper. Even her posture was impressive. But she still hadn't spoken to him. "So what's your name?"

"Katherine." There was no hint of emotion in her voice. Jack perceived her as the snobby type, but didn't want to judge her too quickly. There was the possibility that she could just be shy.

"You have no reason to be nervous on your first day of school," he continued, trying to break the ice.

"Oh I know. I just don't feel like talking to you." Jack concluded that she was, in fact, a snob.

"And why is that?" he inquired. He tried to seem cool and suave but inside he was kind of freaking out, and even a little hurt.

Katherine knew she could've just shrugged, but she had a reason for ignoring him, and was not one to be dishonest. "You have a history of being a player, and I know you are dating Sarah Jacobs." Two things went through Jack's mind. Aside from being confused at her use of the word 'player,' he was also curious as to how she knew that about him already. They had just met. "I will not be the girl you cheat on her with."

"Conceited much? I wasn't even flirting with you," Jack reasoned.

"Whether you were or not, I choose to stay away from boys like you."

"You mean handsome, dashing, bad boys?"

"And you say you're not flirting," Katherine scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Look, this is what happened. You saw me, the new girl. You probably assumed that I do not know anything about your reputation, and that successfully seducing with me would impress your group of guy friends."

"I hadn't initially planned on that, but that's not actually a bad idea. Can you pretend to be madly in love with me?"

"Katherine snickered at the joke. "Clever, Jack. Real clever."

Then Mr. Wiesel entered, (mumbling an apology for being late), and the two didn't speak a word to each other for the rest of the period.

But Jack was thinking about what Katherine said. Her description was _partially_ true. If he saw an interesting girl, he would talk to her. And if he happened to get her number or set up a date, that would just naturally make him look better, even if that wasn't the intention.

And if that girl happened to not know much about his past, then it just made things easier. But nothing of the sort had happened since dating Sarah. And when it came to Katherine, he wasn't trying to take advantage of her lack of knowledge on school politics. He just wanted to make a conversation and she pushed him away before he got a chance. But he still got to learn a little bit about her.

He could tell she smart. She copied down and studied notes as if her life depended on it. She had this intense, unbreakable concentration. Her eyes were always alive with each bit of information passing into her brain. She seemed to always be thinking.

But Jack always kept his sights on Sarah. Katherine may have been a genius, but Sarah was just as good. She was pleasant and kind. She listened to Jack and he listened to her. They understood each other. And she fit in with the guys instantly. Jack couldn't imagine Katherine hanging out with his rowdy bunch.

He chuckled to himself, imagining the look on her face if she saw them playing a football game. Sarah, in contrast, would be playing in it, tackles and all, and would have fun. Katherine seemed like a stiff stick.

The bell rang, and Jack shuffled out of his chair into the hallway. He stopped himself for a moment, wondering why on Earth he was thinking about Katherine meeting his friends. But he forgot about everything when he saw Sarah on the stairs.

"Hey Jack!" she called out. He went over to her and put his arm around her. "How was math?"

"Nothing much," Jack shrugged. "There's a new girl, Katherine." He was surprised he even remembered her name.

"Oh, is she nice?" She wasn't jealous, just curious.

"Well, I said hi, and she told me her name. She said she didn't want to talk to me and accused me of flirting with her."

"Some people just don't see your amazingness." Sarah gave him a peck on the cheek. "I'll see you after school."

"I'm going to miss you when you're off in Germany." She was going on a student exchange program.

"I'm only going to be gone for two weeks. I'll miss you too." They waved goodbye and went off.

* * *

When Jack went to Newspaper that day, he was surprised to see an extra person sitting at one of the computers. At first, he didn't know who it was. He could only see the back. But then the new recruit turned around, and Jack saw her, Katherine. Katherine had joined his club. And the only open seat left was right next to her.

After a few moments, she opened with, "I'm sorry about math."

"Yeah, okay."

They worked quietly for a little while, until, Katherine asked, "What are you writing about?"

"An article on Mr. Weasel. He's a jerk."

"You mean Mr. Wiesel? I don't think it'd be a smart idea to insult teachers in the school paper. You don't want them getting mad."

"You're not gonna blow up on me again, will you?" he laughed, but Katherine didn't think that was funny.

"I said I was sorry."

"I was just messing with you." But that didn't make it harmless. "Loosen up, you're so uptight." Katherine gave him a glare. She tried to look mad, but inside, she desperately wanted to leave.

Jack, who knew she was right, (but wouldn't admit it), deleted his draft. But he didn't think twice about his words. He could tell something was wrong, but he didn't know just how big of a deal it was. He had barely talked to her, and it's hard to offend someone in such a short amount of time.

The next day, Katherine noticed that people were whispering about her in the hallways. At first, she wasn't certain, but people kept giving her dirty looks and she could hear her name (and Jack's) being said a few times. She also heard her name being associated with a curse word, followed by the comment, "I mean, who talks to someone like that?"

Angry, she confronted Jack. "Did you tell your friends what happened yesterday?"

"Um…Yeah?"

"Well what did you tell them?"

"That you said I flirting with you and that you yelled at me for no reason. And I repeated some of the stuff you said."

"And did you repeat what _you_ said?"

"No, why would I need to?"

"Because they can only see one of the side of the story. I mean, Jack, why would you do that! Everyone hates me now!"

"I only said what happened."

"Not all of it. And everything you're saying is going to be biased. You called me conceited that day. That's not true because I know that you would cheat on Sarah with _any_ girl in the school, and it's not conceited if you don't think of yourself as better than anyone else. But you didn't know that because you didn't think about the situation from my point of view." She was spitting out random words, but she was so mad, she didn't even care.

Katherine and Jack did everything they could to avoid each other after that.

* * *

In Newspaper, Jack was able to find a space on the other side of the room from Katherine. This time, he was next to Racetrack. He wanted to find David, to work on formatting with him, but he wasn't there. "Do you know where Davey is?" he asked.

Race shrugged. "No."

"Principal Andersen came earlier," Mush replied. "Said he wanted to talk to the leader and you weren't there so he just took David instead."

"Do you know why?"

"No one does."

Jack was editing an article for the next issue when David walked in (alone). And he didn't seem happy. His eyes were wide and he kept biting his upper lip. Jack waited for him to say something but he didn't. "So what happened?"

"Principal Andersen wants to disband the club…By next month." As if it didn't hurt enough already, it wasn't even going to stay for the rest of the year.

"What?" Jack burst out. And everyone turned their chairs to look at them. "Why?"

"He thinks that our paper is terrible, and he doesn't want to waste school funds on printing it." The boys couldn't exactly disagree. Their work wasn't that good, and they rarely came out with editions. It wasn't that they didn't work hard, they met every day after school. But sometimes, they just couldn't seem to come up with good stories, and it showed. Their paper wasn't nearly long enough, and it came out only every few months.

"So…This is it then," Swifty said sadly. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the air. Everyone in the club really cared about it, and the idea of it disappearing, right before their eyes, was upsetting.

"Well we can't just sit around and do nothing," Mush protested.

"What other option is there?" David pointed out. He sighed in defeat. "We're allowed to print one more issue for next week, so, we might as well make the best of it."

"Hey! That's not a bad idea!" Jack lightened up.

"What do you mean?"

"Gentlemen, from this day forward we work with _diligence._ No more fooling around and slacking off. We make a _real_ paper this time. Well-written pieces, catchy headlines, good pictures. We won't settle for anything less than perfect. We make it professional. We should be able to sell it out on the street. Then we'll see what Principal Andersen has to say about it!" And everyone cheered. "Let's get to work."

In that whole year of Newspaper, never once was there such a productive day. Sometimes they would play games at the tables or chat about random stuff, wasting time. But not after Jack made his speech. Not a second was wasted, and everyone was on board, no one was sitting still. The project wasn't going to be easy, not in the slightest, but it was going to be done.

On his way out the door, Jack realized that he still hadn't talked to David yet. "Davey, do you think you can stay late to help me out with the formatting?"

"Sorry, I have to pick up Les from school. But I can do it tomorrow." Jack wasn't too happy, he wanted to do it by the end of the day. But he couldn't blame David for having to leave.

Katherine had heard him from across the room. "I'll help," she offered. The boys were stunned into silence. "We can work on it now."

Seeing as everything had worked out, David waved goodbye and left. Jack didn't want to be left alone with Katherine- he would've much rather preferred waiting until the next day. But he knew that it was for the best to just do it with her. They didn't have much time. And it didn't seem like she was looking for a fight.

* * *

Another hour later, Katherine and Jack were on the floor, looking over a piece of paper. It was divided into sections, each representing a page of what the newspaper would look like. Sheets of old drafts were scattered around them. There was a lot to be decided. How many articles there should be, where they should go (both the ones that were written, and still in progress), how many more should be written. Despite everyone efforts, the issue was a little short. Only to be expected. They were told to write twice as much as before, in half of the original time, and make it more amazing than possible.

"Do you think we can squeeze out another article in the Sports section?" Katherine asked. "So many teams just ended from the fall, and basketball is doing pretty well I heard."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. Maybe Mush and Blink can make an extra piece on soccer or volleyball."

"I like volleyball…you know I used to be on the team in middle school."

"So what happened?" It felt kind of nice to have an actual conversation with Katherine without her yelling. And she appreciated Jack not being obnoxious like before.

"Newspaper," she shrugged. "It took too much time out of my schedule. Writing runs in the family. My grandfather was a poet, my mom writes children's books, my dad used to be a journalist. It didn't work out, but he still really cares about the news."

"What does he do now?"

"He's the assistant principal"

"Ooh, _the_ assistant principal," he laughed. He thought she meant that her father was the best one or something.

"No, I mean, of here. He works here." She hadn't told anyone yet. And she certainly hadn't planned on telling him. They weren't even close. It just sort of slipped out. Jack was stunned. He didn't know what to say. "You know what, I'm sorry. I got us distracted. Let's just go back to work, we need to finish this."

It was five o'clock, and the sky was already dark. Most of the students (except for the ones in basketball or the school play) had left already. Katherine and Jack wanted to go home too, and wanted to move as fast (but effectively) as possible. Jack couldn't seem to do it though. Katherine's new information completely threw him off. He was focusing the best he could, but it was like his brain was trying to think of two things at once, going back and forth between the newspaper and Katherine's father.

"I was thinking about an article on applying to colleges." Katherine suggested. Jack didn't respond. "Jack…Jack?" He had zoned out.

"Sorry." He finally snapped to attention. "Swifty is already interviewing people from the college office about that…Where do you want to go to college?"

"My dad wants me to apply to Columbia. But I'm also trying to be realistic, so I applied to some city universities."

"You mean CUNY's?"

"Yeah."

"But where do you _want_ to go?"

"Well Columbia does have a good journalism program. And I like Northwestern too. I sent in an application, but I don't think I got in."

Jack shrugged. "It's always worth a shot. I applied to Horace Greeley University and I don't think my grades were good enough."

"Where is it?"

"New Mexico." And then he thought of something from a while ago. "Can I ask you another question? Why were you so upset when I called you uptight?"

"All my life, I've been told to be absolutely perfect, without any room for human error. It's not even just my parents, I think society just presses that on everyone. So when you told me to loosen up, I felt hurt. What can people expect of me? They can't have it both ways. They can either have me as perfect but uptight, or loose and flawed. And I've been doing the first one for years, so why stop now…You know what, we're getting off track again." She picked up the latest draft of the diagram. "We want at least thirty-five pages, but even if we add more to Sports and make every article a little longer, that only puts at only thirty-two."

"But that's not that bad, and I don't think adding to the articles is a good idea. For the most part, people put in the necessary information, so if you put more in it, it feels either overwhelming, or that you're dragging it out."

"You're right. I didn't think that it would add much anyway…But this really should be at least thirty-five pages. Most newspapers are a little longer than that."

"What about my idea for a short story?"

"No, I already put that in there…"

"I think David mentioned about doing this huge piece on science or something, but he hasn't even finished the current event article he was working on."

"And you included those in?"

"Yes, but just the current event article. I don't think he has enough time to write anything more than that. But does it even matter how many pages we have? I doubt Principal Andersen would care about that. Maybe he won't even read the paper. And then this would all be for nothing." It was late, he was tired, and the initial excitement had worn off.

"No it wouldn't be. I don't think this was about trying to prove something to Mr. Andersen."

"Then what was it for?"

"Yourself. You're going to miss Newspaper. We all will. This was more about saying goodbye. He can shut down the program, but it ends on your terms, in the best way possible. Isn't that more important than anything?"

All Jack could think was, _She's a genius, she's a genius, she's a genius._ "It is…but how are we going to fill in the empty space? And how are we going to get attention?" Although Katherine had a good point, he still wanted Newspaper to stay, and for that, he would need some new ideas.

"We need to make sure that the students get involved," Katherine declared. "We unite the student body. If everyone figures out what's going on, Principal Andersen is going to have a lot of people to speak to. Maybe he'll consider letting us stay. And how _are_ we going to get people to notice us?"

"A rally," Jack said instantly. "This Friday, we invite everyone to the gym for a free party. There'll be some music, dancing, good food, David can make a speech. A lot of people don't go to dances, but a lot of people _do_. And I bet more people would be willing since they wouldn't have to pay for anything. I'll fund it."

"Maybe we can convince Ms. Larksin to let us make an announcement on the loud speaker! Jack, that's brilliant!" She had never looked so happy before.

Before he could even comprehend what was going on, he leaned in and kissed her. He backed away immediately, upset with himself for what he did. He didn't even know why it happened in the first place. He was just so excited about that idea, and his blood was pumping and he was tired, and she just looked so beautiful…

Katherine was so surprised. She wasn't furious, just mad, and confused and concerned. "Jack, what did you just do?" She couldn't believe it.

"I, I, have to go." He grabbed his backpack ran off. His steps were uncoordinated and jagged, but he had to get out of there.

"Jack," she tried to talk to him.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he yelled as he ran.

"We need to talk about this." But he was already out the door.

* * *

Spot and Race were peacefully walking down the hallway when they saw Jack breezing by. He nearly ran them over, but he stopped in front of them. "Whoa! Jack, what's going on?" Racetrack asked.

"I," he was panting and out of breath from the running. "I, I kissed," he didn't want to admit it.

"Just spit it out, will you?" Spot didn't have time for Jack's blubbering.

"I kissed Katherine." And suddenly, Spot decided that he _could_ listen to what Jack had to say.

"That was a very bad thing to do, Jacky-Boy." He shook his head.

"I know, I know. What should I do?"

"Well you can't tell David,"

"But Sarah should know," Racetrack put in. "And you shouldn't lie to her about it."

Jack knew he was right, but the last thing he wanted to do was admit everything to Sarah. She was a very nice and understanding person, but it wasn't something he wanted to tell to anyone. It was going to be hard. But he knew that he had to do it.

That night, he called her on a video chat. She looked happy and sweet. Jack felt so guilty, betraying someone like that.

"Hey, how are you?" she asked.

"Good, good." He paused, anxious about what was coming next. "Listen, um, there's something you need to know. I should really tell you in person, but it can't wait."

"Jack…What's wrong?" she was getting scared.

"That new girl, Katherine, we're on Newspaper together. And I, um, I kissed her." He was hoping for her to say something, anything, but she didn't respond. The suspense was killing him. "I suppose you hate me now, don't you?"

She shook her head, but it didn't seem like she meant it. "No, I don't. But I honestly don't know how to feel."

"Sarah, I am _so_ sorry."

"I need some time to think about this." She seemed pained and confused.

"Are you going to break up with me?" The million-dollar question.

"I-I don't know yet. I'm sorry, um…" she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts. "Just answer me one thing."

"Anything." He felt so bad about everything. He didn't want to break up with her at all, but he also felt it was what he deserved. He couldn't blame her for considering it.

"Do you like her? Would you choose her over me?"

"Of course not!"

"Because if that's what you want, I don't want to hold you back." She didn't want Jack to feel as if he had some obligation to her. And she didn't want to be in a relationship with him if it was doomed.

There was only silence.

"I'm going to go now," she said. "I just, I need some space to work this out."

"Sarah, I'm sorry." But it was too late. She had already hung up. Jack sighed, and fell into bed for a restless night. He couldn't sleep.

* * *

Jack didn't talk to Katherine throughout the week. He tried to avoid her, even though she kept trying to get his attention. He couldn't get away from the person he didn't want to see, but got no words from the person he desperately wanted to hear from. He tried calling her, but she never responded. He could understand why, but he still wanted to talk to her. All the time, he kept thinking: ' _you're an idiot, you're an idiot'._ He wished that he had never kissed Katherine. But he did, and he had to accept the consequences.

To make matters worse, the newspaper still wasn't long enough. It wasn't a big deal before, but Katherine had been right. It was the principle of the thing, and he did care. But David had been missing from Newspaper for the past few days and hadn't turned in his article, so they still only had thirty-two pages. He was proud that they made an issue in such short notice, but at the same time, he still wished he could have done better on the project.

Finally, the big day arrived. The rally was scheduled for three-thirty in the gym, and everything was set up. There was music playing on the computer, pizza and snacks on the tables, and lots of people were already there. They seemed to be having fun, which was a good sign. But in the midst of all the excitement, he couldn't enjoy any of it. Not with all of the drama on his mind.

"Hey." Someone had walked up behind him. He knew who it was the minute she spoke.

"Hi, Sarah."

"I missed you." Another awkward silence. "I'm sorry about the way I acted."

"You have every right to be mad. I shouldn't have hurt you like that."

"You're not going to kiss her again, right?" Jack nodded. "You still want to get back together?" He pulled her into a kiss. It probably looked weird since they were out in public, but they didn't care. When they parted, he could see David and Katherine.

"Where have you been?" Jack asked.

"My dad was out of town, so I had to leave school right away to take Les home. He didn't like waiting for me. I worked on the paper there and sent my work to you by email," David replied.

"Oh...I don't check my email."

"I knew you wouldn't, so I sent them to Katherine." Although Jack was slightly offended David didn't trust him to be responsible, he was grateful. Because David had been right.

Katherine was beaming. "Jack, he wrote a _six-page_ article."

"Six pages?"

"Yeah, it's this huge piece on how humans affect the Earth," she continued. "It includes a lot about global warming and the depleting ozone shield. It was _so_ good. And he also wrote a letter explaining the club's situation, and the current event story he promised you." With his additions, the paper was forty-one pages. It was a good thing Katherine was in charge of printing out copies for the event. "Oh, and he made a petition too."

"I've been getting people to sign it during study hall." He handed it to Jack. It had over four hundred signatures, a little bit more than half of the number of students.

"Wow, I feel like I did nothing," Jack joked (even though he meant it.)

"Well, you planned all of this," David pointed out. "And you kept everyone together." Which was extremely important. The project was a team effort.

Jack had to admit that that felt good. But he still had something to do. "Can I talk to you?" He pulled him away from the group. "I kissed Katherine while Sarah was away. I just thought you should know."

"Does she?"

"Yeah, I told her right away. Are you mad at me?"

"Well I don't want your love life to get in the way of our friendship." For someone like Jack, romance is always going be messy. "So let's just forget about it. Just don't do it again." He turned to look at the clock. "Now I have to make a speech." He walked over to the small stage.

"Um, hi everyone," he began. "Now, um, I'm not sure if you heard, but the school paper is being shut down." He was nervous. Everyone was looking at him with a cold, dead, stare. But he still went on. "The papers being passed around will be our last issue, unless you sign the petition." He held it up for everyone to see. "You can come to me or Katherine over there." He pointed to her and she raised her hand. "If you're interested. I'm sorry for the interruption, have a fun party." And people returned to their business.

Katherine whispered to Jack. "What I said before, about you cheating on Sarah, I was wrong." That was pretty shocking coming from her. Jack thought she would be at his throat. But he figured that there was still a lot to learn about her. "You are more than that."

"Sorry for being a jerk."

"I'm sorry for being a snob." There was a lot of apologizing that week.

"I've been worried, wondering if you and Sarah broke up. I'm glad you didn't."

By the end of the rally, at five o'clock, the Newspaper Club had received five hundred thirty-seven signatures, about sixty-six percent of the whole school. And Jack was planning with David a mass email to everyone (for those that actually checked their inbox) to see if they could get any more people on board. To celebrate, Jack, David, and Sarah, went to hang out at a diner.

"Katherine you want to join us?" Sarah offered, hoping to ease any tension between them. There weren't any problems (later on at least). But the trouble wasn't over yet.


	8. Competition Week Part 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies**

The juniors and seniors of Manhattan Technical High School crowded into the auditorium. The high stage stood in front of them, and no one was on it. There was a microphone though, and two fishbowls on a table. In homeroom the day before, they were asked to write their names on slips of paper. (And that was what filled the fishbowls.)

The curtains were closed. No one knew what was going on, just that there was going to be a surprise announcement. It was kind of weird, but no one questioned missing first period (especially Jack-who had math.) Everyone was talking amongst themselves, going in between loud screaming and quiet whispers. They knew the adults were somewhere, and no one felt like getting a lecture about noise.

"What's going on?" Racetrack asked David. If anyone had to know what was going on, it would be David. Teachers loved him. But no, not in this case. He just shrugged back.

As if on cue, Ms. Larksin and Principal Anderson walked up the stairs to get to the front of the stage.

"Good morning students. Today, we have some exciting news. Our school is having its first annual competition week!" There was applause, though nobody thought it was a big deal. "Every week, for three weeks, there will be a special challenge. People will be randomly selected from this bowl." He jiggled around the paper. "There will be one girl, and one boy per grade, each in charge of their own team. And then, he or she will select up to eight other people of the same gender to assist him/her in the assignments. Girls will go against girls, boys will go against boys."

He took out one of the slips and unfolded it. "The coordinator for the eleventh grade class boys is Spot Conlon...On a side note, Luke, next time, please write your given name."

Medda took the second bowl. She smiled, and it seemed like she genuinely cared. It made everything seem more fun. "And the coordinator for the twelfth grade class boys is..." she unfolded the paper. "Jack Sullivan!" Figures that the two people that cared the least about this 'Competition Week' were going to be representing their team. But having two good friends against each other made things a lot more interesting. And they were both very competitive. Jack didn't want to win, but he did want to beat Spot. Spot didn't want to win, but he wanted to beat Jack. Principal Andersen and Medda said the coordinators for the female teams. Then they announced the challenge. "This first week's assignment is to _perform a one-act play_."

Spot gave himself a mental slap on the forehead. Ms. Larksin might as well have been asking people to box a kangaroo. And there probably would've been more volunteers for that. Manhattan Tech was known for academics and sports. But just last year, the music class was cancelled because no one took it seriously (not even the teachers). The arts were not a big thing there. When Mr. Anderson said 'challenge' he really wasn't kidding.

"You can get help from other people, but there are some certain restrictions. You can talk to me later if you have any questions about that. I wish you all the best of luck, and you are dismissed. Join your teachers for first period."

And Jack was hoping he could miss a whole class...

* * *

Jack caught up to Race in the hallway. "Hey. As coordinator, I appoint you in charge of the script."

"You mean finding a good play?" _Oh please_ _be_ _that_ , he thought. _Please tell me I don't have to-_

"No, I mean writing it."

 _Shoot._ "Writing a play in one night! Are you out of your mind!"

"Well I was going to give you two days, but now that you mention it..."

"Jack, that's suicide!" Mush piped up.

"Ellie, tell Mom I love her," Race groaned.

"Tell her yourself idiot," she retorted snottily, rolling her eyes.

"Like you said, writing something original is hard. I doubt the juniors are even going to try. If you can do it, we'll be one step ahead of them," Jack pointed out.

"I _can't_ write a play in one night, that's just not possible."

"You wrote the school play. And that was _two_ acts."

"But that was different, I worked on it for years."

"That doesn't mean you can't make something just as good in a smaller amount of time."

Race huffed. He didn't agree with Jack on that last part, but he knew that he wouldn't take no for an answer. "If I die from this, you're writing my eulogy." He stormed off down the hallway. "And you better put some good flowers on my grave!"

Sometimes Jack could never understand why Racetrack was so dramatic.

* * *

That afternoon, Spot collected his friends (the only people willing to participate) into the cafeteria before school. It was early for them, seven in the morning, and everyone was bored and tired. But Spot remained alert and ready to work, hoping that they would catch on. He sat at the lunch tables, and one by one, they started to come. He managed to assemble a group of eight, not including his sister (who was sadly ineligible to perform but agreed to help.)

When everyone arrived, yawning and sluggish, Spot did what he knew best. Yelling. "Okay!" With the one word, they were already starting to wake up. "As you all know, we have to put on a short play. Any ideas?" Because he had absolutely none. All of the one-act shows he knew were musicals, and all of the plays he knew had multiple acts. There was the option of shortening one of those, or doing some research, but he wanted to see if there was something better first. No one said anything. "Oh come on! You bums can't come up with _one_ good plan?"

"We can always make something new," Bumlets suggested.

"That'll take too long," Snitch countered.

"Yeah, he's right," Spot agreed. "We need to spend our time practicing, not writing."

"We can take one of those one-act musicals on Broadway, add to the scenes, and take out the songs," Pie-Eater put in. Anna looked like she was being stabbed in the heart.

Then Itey said, "Well I have a list of plays we can do."

Spot relaxed a little. "Okay, let's here 'em."

"They all include live fire, is that going to be a problem?"

Everyone, and not just Spot, threw up their hands or rolled their eyes in frustration. The ideas were just getting worse and worse.

Spot began to pace around the floor. "Think boys, think!" Anna cleared her throat. "And girl," he quickly added.

"Well, we have our scenes from the drama project last semester," Crutchy piped up. "We can string them all together and make it into a story. And none of them require complicated sets."

"That...It'll be so disorganized though. It won't flow easily. And making them go together will take forever." Spot just couldn't seem to find the perfect idea.

"Actually, it won't," Anna put in. "They're pretty fun. I did one in musical theatre camp last year, and it wasn't too bad. And the teacher picked the scenes and added the transitions in less than a day."

"Well...Fine. I trust you. The mash-up show it is...! Unless we find something better."

Most of the boys had their old scripts in their bags, so they took them out and put them into a pool in front of Spot. Most scenes were five minutes, and Ms. Larksin said the show would have to be around an hour. They only had about forty-five minutes of material. And that was assuming that all the scenes could work together somehow (and not all could.) There would have to be some serious rewrites. But they could do it. It was going to work out. It had to.

* * *

Racetrack strolled into the auditorium that afternoon, already on his third cup of coffee. (One at breakfast to get through the morning, one at lunch to get through the rest of school, and one right after last period to survive what was probably going to be another grueling three hours.) He usually took it with cream or sugar, but didn't add it that time. Black coffee had the strongest effect, and desperate times called for desperate measures. His hand was shaking, he was having mood swings all day, and he had only finished half of his homework. He loathed Jack right then.

Then he heard a loud screeching sound. "Sorry!" Jack laughed from the stage. "It's feedback from the mics."

"Oh really? Cause from this angle, it sounds a lot like the gates of the _Underealm_ just opened!" Racetrack remarked.

"Don't you mean Underworld?" someone mentioned.

"Oh whatever!" Race spat out. And the sound finally stopped. He rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, sleep deprivation."

"Another nervous fever Victor?" Jack joked.

"Caused by you, monster." Racetrack walked to the stage and put the script on a neraby table. "It's called _The Best Party Ever_ about these teens at, well, a party. I did some casting for the girls during lunch." (Ms. Larksin said that twelfth grade girls were allowed to act) "But we need some strong male leads."

"One step ahead of you," Jack grinned. He motioned to his team. Blink, Mush, David, Specs, Snoddy, Swifty, even Skittery, showed up. "They volunteered to help with anything about this play."

Skittery said, "I thought this was just about tech."

"Sorry, I lied." Of course Jack lied. "Now let's get to work."

* * *

Spot had asked people to borrow their old drama class skit scripts. He didn't get a lot, but he got three, which was something. With the other members of the group, and Sarah's generous help, he managed to round up fourteen. He spread all of them out in front of him. The scenes were diverse, all with different settings and characters. He was glad that he had enough material to last over an hour, but at the same time, he knew a lot of the scenes would have to be cut. He still wasn't sure if he had enough.

The boys read the scripts too, trying to find connections between them to make a whole play. There were lots of ideas. A night in New York City, events at work, things that happen on a sports field. But nothing had enough stories to go with it.

They had just started to give up, when Spot just randomly said, "Remember that time, last year, when Blink accidentally made a small explosion in science class?" None of them had been there to see it, they were all a grade behind, but it was a famous event.

"Yes," Anna laughed. She had actually witnessed it passing through the hallway. "Isn't there a scene like that somewhere?"

"Yeah there is," Crutchy nodded, pushing the paper towards the center of the table. " _A Science Project Gone Wrong._ "

"Isn't there another one about class too?"

"Oh yeah," Jake replied. "Pie-Eater and I wrote it, _The Student Revolution_. It's the only other one that takes place in a school though. There's nothing to add on."

"Well, let's think about it for a second," Spot suggested. Then an idea just _came_ to him. "If we change the settings of some of the scenes, then we can find stuff that can work. Like this," he pointed to one about a club. "We can change some of the dialogue to fit a school dance. Not every scene has to be a class. _The Bully_ takes place in a library, we can use that too. And this one right here, the thing with the sports game, we can make it funny instead of a dramatic. It'll fit right in. That's five pieces, twenty-five minutes. We can bring it to thirty if we add transitions and a quick beginning about being dropped off."

"That leaves an extra half hour to go," Itey reminded him.

"You're right..." Spot agreed. There was dead silence as people tried to think of a plan. But everyone was tapped out. Anna had resorted into her habit of tapping feet (and then eventually quiet singing) to try to come up with something. Everyone just stared at her.

"What? I do it when I need to think. And you do it too sometimes," she pointed out, gesturing to Spot.

"I chew my nails," Jake thought out loud.

"That's not a bad idea," Spot nodded. Anna gave him a quizzical look. Nail chewing had nothing to do with the play. "I mean the music and dancing. I wrote a few songs that can go with the show." In the eighth grade, he had went to guitar camp, and took song-writing class. He didn't enjoy it too much, but it certainly paid off. "Look here." He took out a pen and paper and everyone crowded around him. "It's a normal morning. A kid is being dropped off at school by his mom, and he's embarrassed. Then we go into the lab, where another kid causes a small explosion. Cut to the library, and we have _The Bully_. Next comes _The_ _Student Revolution,_ and a quick game of touch football before ending it with a school dance."

Crutchy gave a few claps and everyone joined in.

"Somewhere in _The Student Revolution_ , one kid can be like 'eh, it's my last day here anyway,'" Crutchy added.

"So we add the songs, put in the final scene, and we're all set," Anna concluded. The boys groaned. No one felt like singing. "If we don't have music, it'll be too short." She rolled her eyes. I'll work with them on it. And the dancing too. Maybe the final scene can be a graduation speech!" And their play was set in motion.

* * *

Murphy's Law: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. And that day of tech was proof of it. Everyone seemed to be having some sort of problem.

With sewing. "My fingers are bleeding!"

Trying to carry poles. _Crash._ "Sorry!"

Untangling wires. "This. Is. Grtgh, grtgh, UGH!"

Writing. "I can't get that word to look right!"

Listening to everyone complain. "Aw put a lid on it!" Jack called for attention. "All right everyone listen up! It's time to begin painting. And let's get one thing clear, if you screw this up, I'm dead. DEAD. Ms. Larksin doesn't want a _single drop_ on this floor. She was gracious enough to lend me a flat," (moving set) "And she would kill me if that happened. And if she kills me, then I will rise up from my grave and kill _you._ " He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Now that that's out of the way, here's what's gonna happen. We are going to spread out rolls of paper on the floor." Everyone groaned. "I know, I know, sounds pretty tedious, but believe me, it's worth it. Now grab some from the wall, put them out, and stick them together with duct tape. Leave _no area uncovered._ " Everyone nodded and got to work. "Except for you guys." He pointed to David, Specs, Mush, and Snoddy. They walked over to him.

"What is it?"

"I made a list of colors." Jack presented it to David and Specs. "While they're protecting the floor, I need you to collect some cans from the closet. Here's the key." He tossed it to them and went to the rest of the group. "Mush, Snoddy, go with them and look for a black beanie."

"A _black beanie_ ," Snoddy repeated. "Got it."

"Jack, I ripped it..." Swifty gestured to the torn paper on the floor.

"Just keep on going. Keep on going."

Back in storage, the boys were having some trouble "I can't see in here," David complained. "Ow!" The top of his head hit something hard and wooden. He rubbed the looming bruise. Specs made sure to stay clear from that area. Then David whipped out his phone and turned on the flashlight. "Paint, paint, paint, paint, paint, oh, there it is." It was on a wall of shelves in the very back corner.

"What colors do we need?" Specs asked.

"The three primary colors," David replied. "And pink, and purple,"

"Primary colors?" Specs was confused.

"Red, Blue, and Yellow. You don't know the primary colors?"

"I haven't reviewed that stuff since eighth grade. I just couldn't remember it off the top of my head...And you couldn't have just said that earlier?"

"That just takes longer." They got back to work.

Mush and Snoddy were still in search of the hat. The place was a pigsty. Hangers of clothes were everywhere and blocking most of the items. It was really dark (but they also used their phones as flashlights.) There were some boxes pushed into the sides of the floor and under the clothes. Mush had seen a black piece of cloth as he walked in, Snoddy saw it too, but it didn't open, so it wasn't what they were looking for.

They managed to find a box of hats. It had plenty of black hats. A top hat, a baseball cap, one with stripes. None were right either. The boys dumped it all out onto the floor, but still, they couldn't see anything. They trashed almost every box, and searched every nook and cranny, but they couldn't find exactly what they were looking for. It was frustrating and annoying, (oddly exciting perhaps, but still annoying.)

They wanted to get the search over with, so they could go back out and do some fun stuff, like painting. But every time they thought they had found it, they realized that they had simply landed on the same thing they had seen only minutes before. Anything possibly acceptable, they moved to the stage. But each time, Jack said that it was wrong, and they had to keep on going.

"What about this?" Snoddy held up the black cloth they had seen from before.

"That's not a hat," Mush reminded him.

"Oh, right…But we might as well show it to Jack."

"Why bother?"

Snoddy shrugged. "You never know. I might as well just do it." Mush didn't think it was the best idea, but he went with him anyway. They both thought that it wasn't the right thing, but at that point, they were desperate.

"That's it, nice work." Jack nodded. At first, they were confused, but then he opened the cloth apart. For some reason, it had gotten stuck. The boys were so annoyed, it had been _right_ under their noses…But at least it was all over. And then Snoddy had remembered the mess they made.

"Um, Jack? We kind of spilled clothes all over the floor."

Jack didn't care. "Just throw them back into any random bins. The tech crew organizes them again at the beginning of the year anyway."

And then, the unthinkable happened. It was a very dark day, and it all began with nine words.

"I think I can carry two cans at once," Specs shrugged, taking them both. (One in each hand.) They were nearly done, and David wanted to get their job over with. But as he walked up the stairs, disaster struck. "This one's really light." The two cans were uneven, one of them was just getting to heavy, and it fell to the floor in a dramatic _bang_ of metal. The paint slithered everywhere.

* * *

Meanwhile, the juniors were running rehearsals in the cafeteria. Crutchy had the last line.

"But as the years come and go and we must say goodbye, I wish you a great time to wherever you're going next. And I look forward to seeing...at least six of you next year. Have a great summer!"

And everyone cheered. That was part of the script, but they had also just completed the first run-through without stopping. (The greatest accomplishment of the week.)

Spot turned to Anna. "Your thoughts?" She was the master.

"Overall, it needs some work. I have a hard time hearing you all, and I'm sorry, but you don't have _any_ dance technique." As hurtful as that was, all of the boys knew it was true. "The singing is mostly fine. Could use a little work, but it's good." They just scoffed at that. Even Spot didn't like the sound of his own voice. "The biggest flaw is projection. I'm in the second row and my ears are straining. You're not talking to yourselves, you're talking to the audience. This space is big, and we don't have time to set up microphones. So I need you to _project_...You know what? Let's play a little game."

No one knew whether that'd be a good thing, or a bad thing. Even Spot had no clue what was going on. "Now, SPREAD OUT." She flung her arms out. People started grazing around the room. "GO! GO! GO! I don't want to see any of you even _remotely_ close to each other." At those words, a few groups had to separate. But then everyone was far enough away to her liking. "Now, I need you to repeat after me. HEY!"

"Hey!" everyone screamed.

" _Louder_ , go deep into your stomachs. I said HEY."

"HEY!"

"HEY _YOU_ OVER THERE!"

"HEY YOU EVER THERE!"

"This is stupid," Itey sneered. It felt really weird.

"HEY YOU OVER THERE!"

"This isn't working." He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"HEY YOU OVER THERE!"

"HEY YOU OVER THERE GET AWAY FROM MY CAR!"

"HEY YOU OVER THERE GET AWAY FROM MY CAR!"

"HEY YOU OVER THERE YOUR HOUSE IS ON FIRE!"

"Seriously? This is so-"

"SHUT UP!" Snitch screamed. (Who was usually very quiet.)

Anna nodded in respect. "Hey that was actually pretty good." And Itey looked at him with wide eyes. There's always that one kid that surprises everyone...

* * *

And back in the auditorium, things in tech had taken a turn for the worst.

"What happened!" Racetrack had heard the commotion and rushed to the scene of the accident almost immediately. The last time there had been that sound, well, it wasn't pretty. When he saw the spilled red over the floor, he wanted to cry. And it was such a vibrant color as well (not that that would make a difference.) "Ms. Larksin is gonna be _mad_...And what's Jack going to say?"

Jack appeared behind them. "Quick!" he called. "Wipes, _now._ " There wasn't any time to yell at them. And he couldn't blame them either, everyone had spilled paint before (just not as badly.)

Everyone sprinted to the piano, where there was a handy pile of napkins, just for that specific purpose. But even all of them together couldn't absorb everything. "Race, go to the bathroom and get some paper towels."

"But they never have any after,"

"Just go!" And he sprinted off. The rest of them spent the next minute, feverishly trying to clean up the mess. Most of it was gone, but nothing could be cleaned entirely, especially with the lack of supplies. Racetrack had returned empty-handed. "We've done all we can. That's good." It could've been better, but Jack decided that it was just fine.

When the fiasco had settled down, he returned to the stage. "I need four people to paint the two walls back here with this stuff." He pointed to the white primer. "Use the rollers, and please, be careful. And I need two people to spray paint the pipes in black." Everyone's eyes lit up immediately.

"I'll do it!"

"But I want to do it, I've never used spray paint before."

"Well neither have I," piped up a third person.

Jack sighed. "Snoddy, Skittery, you two do it. _Don't start until I come over._ " He made a mental note to himself to use the saw himself. He didn't want any more arguing over jobs. "The rest of you, go over to Race so he can begin casting parts."

Specs and Skittery were hiding behind the set, pretending to work.

"For some reason, I keep imagining food," Specs mentioned.

"And I keep thinking of Spanish curse words."

"Oh, you know Spanish?" Skittery didn't seem to have any major hobbies, and he never really hung out with friends after school. But Specs figured that he had to spend time doing something other than homework.

"Cursing, is the only reason for language...So no."

Jack walked in one them. "Come on, this is no time for messing around. Skittery, find Snoddy and spray paint. Snoddy, can you go to Race to work on casting?"

Jack left and went back to his work. Skittery put down his paint brush, and they walked off the stage. "Remind me again why we're here."

"Because this is fun."

"…Yeah, I guess it is." Even he had to admit that there was something pleasant about working in the theater.

Racetrack popped up behind Jack after hearing what he just told Specs and Skittery. "The play isn't even done yet." He figured that Jack should at least know that before trying to find actors.

"What?"

"Three-fourths. I mean, all of the characters are in it. The settings too. But I need more time to finish it, and I can't pull an all-nighter again. I can't, and I won't."

Jack sighed. "Okay, okay, get all the sleep and homework you want tonight. But the casting needs to be done _today_. Can the script be finished by Wednesday night? Or Thursday morning?" Racetrack nodded. It seemed fair enough. "And talk me through the sets again."

"Well the script calls for a hallway, den, kitchen, car, and kid's room. So I was thinking that one flat can have a pink wall, the bedroom, and the other side can be red for the den/hallway. The hallway is completely plain, but for the den, we need a TV and couch. And a coffee table and a side table."

"We can use construction paper for the TV whenever we need it and stick something over it when it's the hallway. And Ms. Larksin has a couch and a side table, but I'm not sure about the coffee table."

"It's a pivotal part of the story, there's going to be a giant sword fight on it. Is there anything we can do?"

"I'll talk about borrowing multiple side tables and putting them together. I think that might actually be better since it allows for more flexibility."

"Works for me."

"But try to find a way to work around it, if you can. And remember, the swords have to be plastic."

"I know just what to get. See you!" As he left, he brushed past Sarah, walking through the door. She scurried down the ramp and went over to meet her boyfriend.

"Hi. How's the play going?"

"Good," Jack shrugged. "Just got to fix the top of this flat." He ducked into a closet and took out a chair to step on. "The color is spotty in some parts."

"Be careful Jack!" she called out.

He came back out and put down the chair "I'll be fine," he assured her. _She can be such a worry wart sometimes,_ he thought laughing to himself. He stood up on the seat and started painting. He leaned to the right, just a little too hard. The chair began to wobble, and he fell. Hard.

* * *

The juniors were situated around the piano in the music room. Anna sat on the bench and did some quick scales to practice and get her fingers moving. She gave a deep breath. "Okay, we're going to go over the songs, but I think we need to warm up first. So, um, let's start with this. You're mom's crossing the street, but she's not supposed to. Call out to her, remember 'Hey You Over There.' MOM!"

"MOM!" everyone yelled out (highly confused.)

They had done it to her satisfaction, so they were free to move on. "I'll accompany you guys, so just follow the piano. It's going to get a little higher each time. If it gets too much for you, just stop, take a break. I'll stop when everyone starts to die out. Ready?"

There was a collective "Uh..."

"I think I'll just go." She gave the opening note, and began.

"Moooooom," they sang.

Anna stopped. "I don't think she can hear you. Yell, MOM!"

"MOM!" they shouted. Anna started again, and they moved to singing. "MOOOOOM. MOOOOOM. MOOOOOM." Then Snitch started laughing. Then Itey, then Crutchy, then Pie-Eater, and suddenly everyone was laughing. Anna slammed her hands down, creating a rather gross sound.

"Oh come on guys, you were doing so well!" She glared at her brother. "And for shame Spot! You should know better!"

He kept chuckling. "Sorry, it's a contagious disease." And it was extremely weird singing that particular word.

Anna just rolled her eyes. Brothers could be _so_ annoying. This continued on through every exercise she put them through. Singing was new to them and it felt kind of awkward They simply couldn't stop the giggles. Everyone tried to resist the urge, but it just wasn't working. Especially when one person started, because then everyone else let loose. Anna rubbed her temples. She knew it was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

"Oh my gosh! Jack!" Sarah rushed over to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He sat up slowly. "But my wrist really hurts."

"Well can you move it?" A small crowd started to form around them.

He tried twisting it, but it was too painful. He shook his head no, and used a chair to brace himself up with his good side. "I'm going home. Tell Race he's in charge."

"We're screwed," Mush groaned. One needs three things to be a good tech leader: maturity, experience, and the ability to get people to do what you tell them. And besides Jack, Mush knew no one else in the room that came close to the requirements.

"I'm standing right next to you." Racetrack had come in with him.

"Oh…Sorry."

"Look, just come with me backstage, we need to figure out the curtains."

"Okay. And, sorry about what I said before."

"Whatever." That didn't matter too much, they were friends. Besides, Racetrack himself wasn't sure he would be able to pull off the tech meet.

With Jack gone, he had to figure out the lights and curtains without much help. "I'm looking at this diagram here…And I can't understand anything it's saying." It was made quite neatly, but there was so much on it, that it was very confusing. There was a line going straight through the middle, and he assumed that the two sections represented each side of the stage. But beyond that, it was indecipherable. The two parts were divided by even smaller areas, in various pigments. There were lines on the sides of the paper, all different colors, and the boxes matched the colors, but he had no idea what that meant. Everything looked like a mishmash. "We'll just have to figure this out the hard way."

"What do you mean?" Mush was a little confused.

"We pull each rope until we figure out which curtain it controls. I'll sit in the front row, and tell you what I see."

Mush nodded. "Okay."

Racetrack went down the steps of the side-stage area, and into the seating. "Okay, ready!" he called out. Mush took the rope closest to him. But it must have been stuck, because he couldn't pull it for some reason. "Wait, stop! Stop. I don't want you to break anything."

"I think it's already broken." (It wasn't.)

"Just try another one."

Mush pulled the rope next to the one from before, and it moved the middle curtain to the right, till it made it to the other side. He tried the other ropes, and Racetrack copied down which curtain was the one that moved. What was confusing was that sometimes the curtains worked, and sometimes they didn't. And the problem was that Mush couldn't remember which rope was which, and which rope he had pulled when (which Racetrack depended on for his diagram.) So he kept pulling the ropes, but there was all this chaos, and running around, and it was very stressful. Racetrack decided to work on the lights instead, and avoid the curtains altogether.

The diagram for working the lights was also pretty worthless, so Racetrack was planning on making one from scratch. He wasn't even going to touch the spotlight. It was unnecessary, and complicated, and he worried that he (or whoever in charge of it) would mess it up. However, he was still going to use the colored lights. He knew that it would be very important for setting the mood of his story.

He knew that the control box for it was on a table against the stage. (Carefully), fiddling around with it, he managed to turn on a blue light. He turned it off then turned on a red light. But then he got the lights mixed up, so when he tried to turn on the blue one again, he accidentally turned on the red. At one point, he managed to turn on both of them at the same time, creating a whole new color entirely, and that was just confusing. He found yellow, and purple, orange, and pink. He kept flashing them, trying to figure out the right combinations to do.

"Hey!" Someone yelled. "Can you stop that? It's giving me a headache!" And Race decided that the standard light was fine.

* * *

"Do we have to do this?" Jake complained.

"We look ridiculous," Snitch declared.

Anna had converted the cafeteria into a makeshift dance studio, so she could give them a quick lesson. The boys used tables as ballet barres, and followed Anna's instructions. Most were unhappy at the situation. They just wanted to leave.

"Oh come on. If our play doesn't have songs, it won't be long enough, and if we mess up the dancing or don't dance at all we'll just look like fools. I don't like this as much as the next person, but it's a lot better than the alternative," Spot pointed out. "So just suck it up."

"Literally!" Anna piped up. "Pull up your stomachs."

"This just feels wrong…" Itey moaned.

"Bend your knees…Keep your turnout…No, no, your knees should be over your toes. You're twisting, you…You're going to get an injury. And stop sticking your butt out!" Anna might've been a great dancer, and was good at helping her teacher work with the little kids, but she didn't know how to teach on her own. And the boys were impossible. "Point your toes, point your toes."

"This hurts," Pie-Eater whined. Although Dutchy didn't say anything, he gave a look to Pie-Eater that he was thinking the exact same thing.

"I'll make you do twenty push-ups if you say another word," Anna threatened.

"That'd be a lot better than this," Jake mumbled.

"Okay that's it, drop and give me twenty."

* * *

The end of the day was rough for the twelfth graders. They had spent all day painting and priming. It was hard work, and they were all tired, ready to go home. Snoddy and Skittery were still spray-painting.

"What's the point in even holding a plastic bag up to the pole?" Skittery complained as Snoddy spray-painted. "We already have paper on the floor to catch the paint."

He shrugged. "I don't know. You can take a break if you want." Skittery put down the plastic. "I think this can is starting to run out." Snoddy started shaking it. "Whoa!" The paint squirted out, through the air, and past the paper.

Skittery ran to the piano, and slid to the floor to grab the napkins fast enough, hurting his knee. He ran back as fast as he could, half limping along the way. He felt a little guilty about what happened, but he was too focused on fixing the problem to think about that. When Snoddy saw what happened, he laughed at Skittery's dive, but Skittery just glared back in response.

Finishing felt like a blissful heaven. Everything was (mostly) done, and it was time to leave. But before they could even get off the stage, Race stopped them. "Hold it for a second!" Some people shuffled around, but finally everyone was still. "Now, peek under your shoes. If you see paint of any kind, hand over your rollers to someone who doesn't, and wash it off."

Most people did check, but Specs was too lazy, and didn't think anything would be there. He walked off stage, barely realized that he was leaving white marks with every step. "Specs! There's primer on your shoe!" Racetrack wasn't mad. Just very, very scared at what Ms. Larksin would say. (And she would be scared at what Principal Andersen would say.)

"Oh shoot." He trudged back to the flats and other unlucky ones, and handed his paint roller to Skittery.

"And the rest of you with clean shoes, follow me," Race called. They followed him to the girls dressing room, where he showed them a giant bucket of gray water, four months old. It smelled like rotting mangoes. "All of you, drop the rollers in there. After this, you can leave. But I need two of you to stay and help me clean this up."

When no one volunteered, David decided to be nice and stepped up the plate. Mush followed soon after, and everyone else filed out. "Just keep squeezing the rollers until there's no more gray stuff."

It didn't seem that bad of a task, but it proved to actually be pretty terrible. The gray water did come out, but it didn't seem like there was any less than before. "Yeah that roller's done, you can move on to the next one," Racetrack said to David. He had been working on the same one for two minutes. "I'm gonna head out. Thanks!"

"Hey, wait!" David tried to stop him, but Race was already out of the door. He huffed, and kept on going. It wasn't fun, but it was just something he had to work for. It was a favor for a friend. And that friend had hurt his wrist so he felt kind of bad.

The project was really gross, but it was bearable. Until Mush touched the bottom of the bucket. "Ew!" He snapped his hand out of the water.

"What? What happened?"

"The bottom of the bucket...It's all dry and crusty. It's disgusting and it feels so weird." He felt all tingly, like he just couldn't touch anything anymore. He shuddered at the thought of what just happened.

David was curious, so he touched it too. And in his opinion, Mush was pretty accurate. It was bad. They finished up the last three rollers as fast as possible, wanting to get out already.

When they were done, they realized that the primer had stuck to their fingers. There was a sink right next to the bucket, but the soap, and everything else around it, was dirty. They went to the bathroom, but the soap was too weak to do anything, and there wasn't a lot of it. Water alone wasn't good, and there weren't any napkins to rub the gunk off.

They decided that they would go home and clean up there, but the primer got on their backpacks and they remembered that they couldn't touch anything. Not even a doorknob.

Stuck and unsure of how to handle the situation, they returned back to the bucket. "Maybe there's towels around?" David suggested. There weren't any. But Mush took a bottle of bleach. "What? That's a terrible idea."

"I agree, but unless you got anything else..." David had nothing to say. So he sighed, and opened his palm out. "We tell no one," Mush added, putting a little bit on himself. (He only used a small amount. Too much would ruin the skin.)

"This should loosen up the primer, so we can probably rinse it off in the bathroom."

And it worked. "See, no lasting damage." Their hands weren't completely clean, but it was good enough for them to go outside. They figured that they could get the rest off later.

"This kind of sucked," David said as they walked.

"Maybe...In some ways. I don't think so."

"Well I guess this has some appeal." They came to the door. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow."

* * *

A few days later, it was opening (and technically closing) night. The juniors were trying on costume graduation robes. "These arms are way too long!" Snitch laughed with Jake. They were supposed to be trying them on the dressing room, but had moved out to the stairs. Racetrack and Skittery were mad. They were trying to move paint buckets into the supply closet, and the juniors were blocking the way. The hard work had made Skittery and Race lose patience, and they didn't want to deal with them.

"Get out of the way." Racetrack pushed past them and Skittery followed. Snitch and Jake stepped to the sides, but laughed. Then Jake put the tassel on his face as a mustache.

For the most part, both shows ended up fine. A few lines were messed up or forgotten, but that was only to be expected. They all gave the performance of their lives. Both teams were breathless on Friday night, when it was time to announce the results.

"And the winner is," Medda began. There was a thick quiet circulating. "The eleventh!" She liked their creativity and musical numbers.

But the seniors had put their (literal) blood, sweat, and tears (the stress had gotten to poor Racetrack as he was trying to write), into it, and they _still_ hadn't won. They didn't just want to beat the juniors now, they wanted to _annihilate_ them. This. Meant. War.

 **Author's Note: This is the longest installment in the whole story! (So I'm sorry if it's messy in some places.)**

 **A shout-out to biankies and theater104 for reviewing Skittery's Bad Day. Thank you so much! :D (And I'm sorry that I didn't say that in the last chapter, heh.)**


	9. Competition Week Part 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies**

Once again, the seniors and juniors gathered in the auditorium. It was for the announcement of the second challenge for Competition Week (or rather month, not that Principal Andersen cared about the specifics of its name.) He came out from behind the curtains. But this time, it was Mr. Wiesel with him.

"Good morning. Happy Monday." He seemed bored out of his brain. "As all of you twelfth and most of you eleventh graders know, I teach both pre-calculus, and economics. So this week's assignment is to create a business." He paused as people started talking to each other. "By that, I mean, that you provide the underclassmen a product or service in exchange for fake money. The same teams from last time will participate, but once again, anyone in the grade can be of assistance in certain situations. Your business will only be open for Thursday at lunch, but you can advertise and prepare as much as you want prior to that date," he droned on. "On Friday, we'll count all of the profit, profit, not earnings, and whichever group has the most, wins. I expect a full list of expenses by that morning. Good luck, now get to class."

* * *

Jack and his team met in the cafeteria after school to discuss plans. "There are really only two types of fundraisers in this school, because you want to make more money than you spend." Any sort of money-earning project in school didn't tend to get a lot of earnings. There were only eight hundred possible buyers, and in their scenario, only four hundred. And most of them wouldn't buy anything too expensive, so the cost of producing would also have to be small.

"The first kind is bracelets, but I heard that last time, the sales weren't too good. Especially since most people only buy them because it's usually for a charity case. And the second kind is a bake sale. Which the other team is already doing." Unable to come up with any special ideas, the juniors had decided to go the simple route and make cupcakes.

"What about a car wash?" Swifty suggested.

"We live in New York, remember?" Skittery reminded him.

"Oh yeah, right."

The room was quiet as they all tried to think, but no one could come up with anything.

Then, Mush randomly said, "I could really go for some pasta right now."

"Can we not get sidetracked please?" But Jack felt his mind wandering too. He thought about pasta. Then he remembered that there was no place in the area to get it. There were a lot of good food options around, but none of them had decent spaghetti. He told himself that there should be. "That's not a bad idea. We can sell real food during the lunch rush."

He thought back to the previous bake sales. The lunch options would always go first. He didn't understand why, but then it all made sense. Those were the foods that people couldn't get outside. Or some people didn't feel like leaving the school for their meal.

"Chicken is also pretty rare around here," Racetrack pointed out.

And they proceeded to make a list of what to get for Thursday.

* * *

Meanwhile, the eleventh graders attempted to make posters for advertising (Jack and his team had sent out a mass email instead. Which wasn't good for publicity, but still got lots of attention.)

"Did I spell this right?" Dutchy asked to Jake.

"Only you would worry about misspelling 'bake sale,'" Jake joked. He laughed. Dutchy gave him a friendly glare in return. They looked at everyone else's work. "Bumlets is a really good artist."

"Yeah, Pie-Eater too."

"Itey, stop drawing on yourself," Spot ordered. Snitch snickered. (And Spot was beginning to understand the struggles of the school art teacher.)

Then later at home, they made their cupcakes.

Crutchy knocked on his mother's door. "Hey Mom? Where do you keep the baking recipes?" She pointed to a tin box on the side of her desk. He went inside and took it. "Thanks."

After finding the recipe he needed, he brought out all of the ingredients from the cabinets. He set them out on the dinner table, and started baking. He double-checked each step and measurement, making sure that everything was perfect. His mother was famous for her baked goodies, and he knew that if he followed the instructions like she did, his group would definitely win.

Unfortunately, that's not what happened. Despite how careful he was being, the cupcakes, tasted, _terrible_. Downright disgusting. "Mom!" he called her into the dining room.

She rushed in. "Yes, Christopher?"

"What's wrong with these?" He handed her one of his cupcakes. She took a bite and gagged.

"I think you took the jar of salt instead of sugar." She gave him the most sorrowful look. The jars, although two different colors, were right next to each other, and could easily get mixed up. His older brother, who happened to be passing by, just laughed.

"Do you think I have time for another batch?" he asked.

His mother looked at the clock. "No. It's time for dinner, and you still have homework to do."

Crutchy sighed in defeat. He wanted to try again, but he also knew that she was right. He would've gladly skipped homework, but it was something that he had to do it. Still, he remained hopeful that someone else did a good job. He cleared off his work.

Itey, who was also baking, was having problems of his own. He had found a recipe online, and did it correctly. He left it in the oven, and started on his homework. He was so engrossed in math problems that he completely forgot about the cupcakes, until he could smell something burning. At first, he was confused. Neither of his parents had started cooking dinner yet. But then he remembered.

He ran to the kitchen. Through the oven door, he could see flames. Cursing under his breath, he filled up a nearby pot with water, and flung it into the fire until it died down. The food was absolutely destroyed. And then there was the matter of cleaning up the ashes. The idea of being yelled at by Spot, and even worse, his mother, made him shudder.

* * *

The next morning, Spot was disappointed at the amount of goods he received. Crutchy and Itey botched theirs, Dutchy was too busy, and Jake had forgotten his. "None of you could make a _single_ batch of cupcakes?"

"You have Anna, that's not fair," Itey pointed out. Not everyone could have a baking wizard for a sister.

"She had choir." Spot had made them all himself.

"Oh."

"Well four batches can at least get us something." The next step was to get them upstairs to the teachers' refrigerator (Spot had asked permission beforehand.)

"I'll take them," Jake offered. He felt guilty for coming empty-handed. But as he walked to the elevator, he tripped, throwing each cupcake facedown to the floor. Then he _really_ felt bad. "I am so, so,"

"It's fine," Spot assured him. He didn't want poor Jake to feel any worse than he already did. (Contrary to popular belief, Spot Conlon does actually have a soul.) "I have an idea."

Rather than crying over the accident, he ran out to the supermarket and bought food. He hadn't done that originally, because he knew that anything home-baked would be a bigger hit. But he figured that if he put the items outside of their packages, no one would know the difference. And in this way, there was more variety. He had cupcakes, yes, but also cookies and slices of pie and cake.

Jack's team had gotten bagels from the deli next door, and also pizza and dumplings from other nearby establishments. He had made pasta at home, penne alla vodka, and Blink brought chicken. And earlier that morning, Jack sent Sarah to Chinatown for almond cookies. She had a free period and lunch back to back, giving herself time for the long trip. (And he paid her with a kiss.)

Both Jack and Spot were ferocious business leaders and sellers. Lunch was a blur of haggling and bagging. The game was extremely close. That night, they added up all of the expenses of the ingredients, food, plastics bags and napkins, (and for Spot's group, they had to pay for the paper and markers for their fliers.) Everyone was anxious all day, curious about the results. And when they saw Mr. Wiesel at the end of the day on the stage, they could hardly wait another second.

Spot's team had made the most money. But, they had to pay more because of the posters and the unsold cupcakes that fell on the floor. Jack's team's expenses all gave way to earnings, and the mass email was free.

"And the winner is…the twelfth graders."


	10. Competition Week Part 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies**

 **Author's Note: I apologize in advance for any massive confusion over the rules of the game.**

The third (and final) announcement took place in the gymnasium. Mr. Andersen and Mr. Denton were waiting there. Manhattan Tech never seemed to have a proper gym teacher. It rotated between various staff members every few weeks. And currently, the position belonged to the English teacher.

"We will be doing the third challenge, here, during first period." The class cheered. They got to miss the beginning of the school day! "We will be playing a game of European handball." Everyone got a little nervous. They hadn't done that since the ninth grade. They had forgotten all of the rules. "First, a little review."

"Similar to soccer," he continued. "The object of the game, is to throw the ball into the other team's goal, one on either side of the room, guarded by one person. A person can make any combination of these four actions. Dribbling, stepping, passing to a teammate, or shooting to the goal. But a person can only do up to three moves a time. You can also do unlimited pivots. To move the ball across the floor, throw it, or roll it. When you shoot, you _cannot_ put any part of your foot on the line outside of the net. You can, however, do a running start and do a _small_ jump inside. Whoever has the most goals in thirty minutes, wins. There will be a halftime. For the seniors, one person will not be playing the first half, and will replace someone for the second. Any questions?" No one could remember what he just said. "It'll be easier to understand once you start to play. Just come back to me if you get confused. Jack, pick your person to sit out."

Jack randomly decided on Specs, but any player on the team would've been fine to play. The game began.

The thing about David is, that he is scared of moving projectiles (such as balls.) He's not good at catching, and he's not good at deflecting them either. Jack tried to get the ball to him, but it always ended up in the arms of the opposite team. Everyone was frustrated with David, even himself. "Just go for it!" Jack yelled.

"Easy for you to say," David mumbled under his breath. Eventually, no one even tried to get him into the game. They might as well have been playing a person down, and they didn't listen to any of his ideas.

At that point, since David wasn't doing anything, he started watching and analyzing everything. He saw that it was a big problem (rather than a solution) that the balls went so high into the air, and at extremely far distances. Yes, it made it easier to get from one side of the court to the other, but it caused so many fumbles, and opportunities for the other team to intercept it.

And people didn't take advantage of rolling the ball, even though it could've worked well in so many situations. People were cornered a lot, and instead of rolling it under the legs of the enemy, they threw it over the head. That made the ball go to the opposite team's possession multiple times.

Spot made the majority goals for his side, making them seem to be in the lead for every point of the game. But David also noticed that his foot was always on the line, and that hadn't been taken into account. "Spot, none of your goals count if you keep stepping on the line. You can still make the same point if you just take one step back."

"Whatever, it doesn't matter."

David was annoyed. It did matter, if Spot wanted to win at least. David counted that out of his seven goals, only one actually got the juniors a point. But David only shrugged it off. It was good for him, and if Spot wanted to ruin his team, he would let him have it.

No surprise, that in the second half of the game, David was the one on the sidelines. Naturally, once again, he kept looking out for mistakes. (Because Mr. Denton didn't seem to be doing a good job of it. He could only check one side of the gym at a time.)

"Jack!" David called out. "That sequence was illegal." Jack had run, doing steps far exceeding two.

"If the ref doesn't see it, it's not illegal!" Jack shouted back. But then David told Mr. Denton. He ended up becoming the unofficial referee. In fact, he started tallying all of the false goals (on both teams.) Although he wanted to win, he also wanted to be fair.

Itey, who was taking a break (Swifty did the same to make the game even), randomly complained to David, "You guys crowd around us and get way too close to our faces. I feel like I can't move anything without hitting someone. My team may crowd, but not that bad. It's so annoying."

"Racetrack! Maybe you should take a little step back!" Racetrack was up against Jake, trying to make sure that he didn't pass to his teammate.

"Shut up!"

"Sorry," David apologized to Itey. "I tried." Itey was fine with it though. He understood that David couldn't fix everything.

At the end of the game, the seniors got creamed. They lost, according to Jack's count, twenty to twelve. He thought it was pathetic. Hot and sweaty, he opened the door to the locker room. Until, Mr. Denton stopped anyone from leaving.

"It has come to my attention that the score written is actually wrong. It's actually nine to nine. A lot of goals didn't count." It pays to follow the rules. "Jack, go to the goalie box. Juniors, face him. You will go up against him, one by one, to see if you can score. Seniors, you will do the same thing after them with Spot as goalie. Whoever ends up with the most points after this wins."

Crutchy, Dutchy, Itey, Spot, Pie-Eater, Bumlets, Snitch, and Jake, all went. None of them made a single goal. They normally would've been really good at it, but the extra pressure made Jack better and them worse.

"One of the seniors has to sit out," Mr. Denton reminded them. Jack was about to tell David to do it, but then Mr. Denton added, "And it can't be David, Ryan, or Robert." That person ended up being Skittery. Jack got scared for a moment. Once again, no one got a point on his team. But there was still one more person. It all came down to David.

But the thing is, just because David was scared of being hit by a ball, didn't mean that he wasn't good at throwing them. He had impeccable aim and a strong arm. Spot gave everything he got to deflect his throw, but David still got the point.

The seniors won. And so wraps up competition week.


	11. The Bet

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.**

The last thing David expected to hear that afternoon was, "There's an elephant outside." It was after school, the day of parent-teacher conferences, and his dad had just finished up his meeting. He was in the bathroom, and Les was with David in the cafeteria. They were waiting for Jack so they could go to a movie, when Les randomly made that comment.

"What? No, there isn't." Les was known for telling weird lies like that.

"Bet you twenty bucks there is."

"You're just messing with me." That was always part two of Les' steps for joking around. The smile on his face was a telltale sign he was just being annoying.

"I'm not."

"You're ten years old already, stop with these stupid games."

"Sarah said stuff like that all the time to me when _she_ was ten."

"Yeah, well, you're not Sarah." It was a tempting idea back then, to fool the young, gullible, four-year-old Les. But David thought that that would be mean. (Unlike Sarah, who did that all the time.)

"Why don't you believe me? There really is an elephant outside!" It looked like he was about to burst out laughing. Little brothers could be a pain sometimes. "If you don't believe me, you can look outside and see for yourself."

David rolled his eyes, but let Les guide him to the window. It covered almost the entire back wall, but he didn't notice anything. "Huh, guess you can't see it from up here. It's probably covered by the trees," Les tried to explain. They were on the second floor.

"Uh huh, yeah. And there's a unicorn down there too. It's playing tennis with a woolly mammoth."

Les made a look, annoyed at how David was acting.

Then Jack walked in, taking a sip of his coffee. "Hey Davey? You notice there's an elephant outside?"

"Oh don't tell me _you're_ in on this."

"In on what?" he smirked. Jack could be a pain too. And he loved to team up with Les for the sake of annoying David.

"You boys ready to go?" Mr. Jacobs had come back. They all went down the stairs.

Les said, "You're going to see it when we get outside."

"If there _is_ actually an elephant outside, it's probably a tiny figurine you or Jack put down there."

"Neither of us could've _possibly_ carried it...How about we make a bet, a real one. If there's an elephant, you give me five bucks. If there isn't, I give you five bucks."

"Yeah, fine." He only said that to get him to shut up.

When they walked out of the building, they crossed through the park to get to the theater. "It's right around here."

"Will you just _stop_ alre-" he didn't even get to finish his sentence, because there _was_ an elephant. A big elephant statue, made of large, white bars and a ruby eye. "Oh."

"I knew you wouldn't believe us," Jack laughed. Les joined in. "Come on, let's go."


	12. The Sound

_Seven Years Ago_

Once upon a time, there was a boy called Skittery, and another one called Pie-Eater. Those were not their given names, of course, but nicknames. And this is the story of how they got them.

It was the first day of middle school, in the year 2009. Neither Skittery, nor Pie-Eater, had someone to sit with at lunch, and they found themselves at the same table. Skittery didn't want to talk, but Pie-Eater tried to have a friendly conversation.

"What do you have for lunch?" he asked, peering over to the cafeteria tray.

"Lasagna, an apple, and a salad."

"I never get mine from school." _Clearly,_ Skittery thought. The boy carried a lunch box. "Is it good?"

"Sometimes, I guess," Skittery shrugged. He had a pretty high tolerance for strange foods. "What are you eating?" and he cursed at himself for continuing the conversation.

"My mom packed me a turkey sandwich and some crackers, and…huh, a slice of cherry pie, yes!" There was a pause. Skittery was about to breathe a sigh of relief but then he heard, "I'm Liam by the way."

"Jackson."

"So what elementary school do you come from? I spent a few years in Lincoln, but I transferred to a school in Brooklyn for my last year." At that point, he had started eating, and Skittery discovered something he hadn't known before. He couldn't stand the sound of that boy eating.

It started out slightly annoying first. It wasn't even annoying, just very present and slightly distracting. It was a very distinct _smack, smack, smack._ Skittery tried to get himself to stop focusing on the weird chewing noises and he answered Pie-Eater's question. He tried to pay attention to what he was saying, but the emotions were starting to get worse.

He starting wringing his hands and squirming, but that didn't seem to be helping, so he started kicking his ankles on the chair, after taking bites of his pasta. He felt the very strong urge to scream, and his head was begging inside to just let go. The hard hit of the chair oddly helped, but it wasn't enough. He just couldn't stand it. He had run away, or at least do something. _Something_.

Pie-Eater was just so frustrating. Skittery couldn't understand why he was so agitated and knocked his knees together. He looked at exits on either side of the room, desperately wanting to escape, but he didn't think he could. He started kicking his legs and accidentally hit Pie-Eater's shin. He mumbled a swift, "Sorry," and gave a gulp. He tried to breathe and calm down, but the peace was only temporary. The chewing came back, and what was even worse, was the anticipation of hearing the sound again after he stopped.

He began to pinch into his skin. He scratched the side of his hand, and then nonchalantly near his nose. He had an annoyed look on his face, his eyes were wide and his mouth kept moving. He tried to muffle the sound by resting his head on his ear, but that didn't block it entirely. He decided that being polite was overrated, and he finally burst out, "Why do you have to chew so loud!" He realized that he screamed just a little too loud and quickly cleared his throat adding, "Pie-Eater," and he gave an awkward smile, hoping to pass it off as a joke.

Luckily, Pie-Eater thought that was funny and laughed. "And why are you so skittery, _Skittery._ " And thus, they had been donned Pie-Eater and Skittery.


	13. Jake's Crush

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies**

When Jake first saw Macy, he was completely smitten, lovesick for her. He was at the office picking up the attendance for his homeroom teacher, Mr. Denton, when he saw her getting registered. Later, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He had a crush so strong, it was almost sad. Of course, he dismissed it, passing it off as a joke to himself. After all, he barely knew her, and had decided from a young age that 'love at first sight' doesn't exist.

But then later, he got to know her better. Unlike with other girls, he didn't dive in right away. (Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was scared.) He didn't talk to her, but he did observe. He didn't stalk her, but he did notice certain details. Like that she played volleyball with some of the other girls after school (and was pretty good at it). And that she was in the cooking club. And that she was amazing in math but confused in history. With each piece of the puzzle coming together, he started to fall harder and harder for her.

Something like that can't be easily hidden. Snitch noticed what was going on, and when he caught Jake staring at her in math, he thought he should say something. "Just ask her out." Watching the little saga was entertaining. But he also wanted Jake to stop pining already.

"What? No, no. I don't, I don't have a crush on her." His stammering was a telltale sign that he did actually like her.

"I know you do. Come on, ask her out to lunch or something."

"No, I can't!" Doing that seemed as terrifying as being out to sea in a hurricane. And he would've rather done that a thousand times than have one conversation with her.

"If you don't tell her by the end of the week, _I_ will."

"But I don't like her like that."

"If that's true, then you say that to her instead."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Just say: 'hi. My friend is going to say that I have a crush on you. I don't. Although I think you are a nice person, I just don't know you that well. Please disregard his message.' That simple."

But Jake knew that nothing around her would be easy.

Day, after day, after day, he stayed outside after class, waiting for the right moment to get her attention. Knowing Snitch, he would actually spill the beans on Friday. And settling the situation himself seemed like a much better option than that. The only problem was, he didn't know which story to pick. At that point, he had stopped the denial. He wondered if he should admit his true feelings, or say that he didn't like her. He had planned not to do anything about his crush. But he couldn't anymore. Not with Snitch involved.

By Friday, the rumor had spread everywhere. Snitch had told it to his friends, who told it to their friends, and it wasn't long before it finally got to Macy herself. She didn't know he was supposed to ask her out by Friday. In fact, she didn't believe anything anyone was saying. She couldn't believe that someone actually liked her. On Friday, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

"Macy, I have something to tell you," Jake began.

"Can I go first?" Macy asked. Jake nodded. "I…Would you like to out to lunch with me?" Because she liked him too. The hallway erupted into thunderous applause.


	14. Katherine Part 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies**

"Whoever invented ties is an idiot," Jack grumbled, trying to put one on. His father went over to help him.

"You look so handsome!" his mother beamed. "I can't wait until Sarah gets here. We're going to take so many pictures."

"Oh Ma," he groaned. He loved his mother, but she could also be very annoying.

"Don't smother him," his dad put in (which Jack was very grateful for.) It's nice to have at least one parent who understands.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He wore a blazer, button-down shirt, dress shoes, trousers with a belt, all the color of charcoal. It felt weird to look at himself wearing fancy clothes. In fact, none of it was his. He borrowed it from his father. But it was prom night, and he wanted to look nice. He did a last-minute brush of his hair, knowing he would have to leave at any moment.

He heard the phone ring. His mom ran out to pick it up. "It's Sarah!" she yelled before hanging up. "She's downstairs and wants you to meet her there."

"Okay!" He made sure he had everything, left his room, and started to walk out the door. His mom followed him out.

"You have your keys?"

"Yes."

"Cell phone?"

"Yes."

"Tickets and money?"

"Mom, I checked right before I left." They walked into the elevator.

"I just wanted to make sure." She squeezed his hand. When they walked out, they saw Sarah in the lobby. The three walked out to the front entrance of the building.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Taking pictures, remember?" This was the part he dreaded. Knowing his mother, she was probably going to take like ten and get him to bring out the rest of the group from the limo for more. But no. She only took two solo pictures, and two of him with Sarah. "I know you don't want to take so many." She could be cool, (at times).

He waved goodbye. "Bye mom! Love you!" he called out, before sliding into the car with his girlfriend. "You look amazing."

"Thank you," she blushed. "And don't forget, I have to leave at nine." She needed to sleep at a decent hour because she had a volunteer project the next day.

"Yeah I remembered."

David and Eleanor were already inside, as a couple, with Skittery, Mush, and Blink, who only had each other. For some reason, Mush had a weird, brown box on his lap. There were holes in it.

"What's in that?" Jack asked pointing to Mush's item.

Mush awkwardly cleared his throat. "It's, it's nothing. Just a present."

"Ooh, for a lady friend?" he laughed.

"Sure."

Then Jack changed the subject. "So you three don't have dates?" They shook their heads. "I thought someone asked you out?" he directed to Skittery. He didn't respond.

"Is Racetrack going to meet us there?" David inquired, changing the subject.

"He's not coming. He's going to be a camp counselor this summer, and he's at orientation," Eleanor explained. Which was good to hear, because that meant that she and David wouldn't have to spend the night hiding their relationship from him. He didn't know they were dating, and they didn't know how he would take it.

The school was only twenty minutes away, so it was a pretty short ride. They stepped out into the warm summer air, into the building. Balloons gave way to the entrance, and Ms. Larksin and Mr. Denton greeted them. The group handed them their tickets, and went into the gym. Colored lights were flashing everywhere and music was blaring from the DJ. It was really loud, but they all got used to it after awhile.

Jack could see Katherine in the corner. She was talking to someone he assumed was her prom date. It seemed that he was yelling at her, and it looked like she was crying, or at least about to cry. He stormed off, and she fled through the side exit. "I'll be right back," Jack promised Sarah. And he ran off to catch up with Katherine.

He saw her duck into the janitor's closet. He creaked open the door, and his suspicions were confirmed- her eyes were puffy and dotted with tears. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He assumed that the answer was no. She seemed like the kind of person to bottle in pain. But instead she replied, "Yes." He went inside and sat next to her. "I just don't want to be alone," she continued.

Jack nodded thoughtfully. "So what happened?"

"My boyfriend, he, he dumped me." She gave a look that was so pitiful that it would've made anyone, even monsters, feel sorry for her. Jack felt compelled to listen, even though he knew that Sarah was expecting him. Most people in his situation would be there only as needed, and take an out as fast as possible. Jack didn't plan on that. He didn't feel for her romantically (or at least he thought he didn't), but he didn't want to see her upset either. Despite their rocky history, he did care about her.

"It seems like everyone hates me sometimes," she said after awhile. "I don't blame them." Yelling at Jack was old news, and nobody cared about that anymore. But, even after six months, she still struggled with the balance between uptight and loose. She was intense in a way that made her different, and a target for others to laugh at or dislike.

"I don't hate you."

Still upset, she was too choked up to talk. But she gave him a smile to show her appreciation.

Meanwhile, Blink and Mush were hanging out in the corner, completing their plan for (in their opinion) the most brilliant senior prank of all time. (From the point of view of fellow seniors, it wasn't, but it was certainly interesting.) Mush opened up his box, revealing a frog. "Yep, it's still there. A present to the school," he joked.

"I'll keep the chaperone busy, you put it in the punch bowl," Blink ordered.

"Got it."

Blink walked to the snack table, and started chatting to the parent behind it. "What food is there to eat? I'm sorry to disturb you, I can't see too well."

As the parent answered his question, Mush snuck up behind him, and leaned over to drop the frog in the bowl. Unfortunately, he leaned too far and tripped, sending his face into the drink. "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry ma'am." He quickly thought of an excuse. "I tripped." He wiped what he could off of his face.

In the process of his trick, the frog had slipped from his hand and escaped out into the dance. It moved through the people, creating some slight confusion, and went through the doors, out into the school lobby. Ms. Larksin shrieked. That exact moment happened to be when Mr. Denton was just leaving from the bathroom, and it hopped inside. Luckily, Mush saw where it went.

"Shoot. Now I have to catch it."

Jack and Katherine were still sitting in the janitor's closet one hour after the dance had started. She had stopped crying a while ago, but she still seemed sad. "Are you ready to go yet?" He didn't necessarily want to leave, but he thought that it was kind of sad that Katherine was missing everything. He wasn't going to pressure her to go, but he felt that she deserved some fun.

Katherine shook her head. "No. I don't even think that I can. Maybe I should just go home." There didn't seem to be any point in spending all night cooped up in a closet when she could at least be in bed watching movies or something.

"Katherine, this is your senior prom. You only get this once. I know you're upset, but you can't let your stupid ex ruin your life." She may not have had a date anymore, but she still had friends to be with. Still, she didn't feel comfortable going on the dance floor with him still out there.

"I-I can't go. I don't want to run into him."

"You don't have to go through it alone. I'll be there at least, and there'll be lots of other people that like you," he pointed out. "But we can stay in here for as long as you want. Or you can leave." Katherine paused, thinking. "Or, you can go back to the gym and have the time of your life. You're choice."

After a moment, Katherine stood up. "You're right. I've been working too hard to let this all go to waste." The little shred of confidence felt good, but still a little scared, she stayed close to Jack as she walked back inside.

Eleanor and David were on the dance floor together when they noticed Racetrack walking in. "I thought you said he was at some camp event?"

"That's where he said he would be." Eleanor was just as confused. Race went towards them.

"Hey. Where's Jack? And Mush? And everyone else?"

"Around somewhere," Ellie shrugged. "What are you doing here?"

"Training was postponed for tomorrow. And why aren't you with the others?" Racetrack asked.

"Because she's my date," David replied cautiously.

"David!" Eleanor hissed. She wasn't ready to tell him.

"He should know," David whispered back. He knew that Race would figure everything out sooner or later. No use trying to dance around it anymore.

"Oh, okay then." Racetrack shrugged. He was taking it much better than anticipated. Both of them, Eleanor especially, thought for sure that he would be mad. It was a big relief to hear that he wasn't, and it felt nice to not have to worry.

But Racetrack took David aside. "If you hurt her, you're a dead man." And David gulped. Luckily the rest of prom was still pleasant.

When Katherine and Jack returned to the dance, he found Sarah alone. "Where were you?"

"Sorry. Katherine was…" he wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to say she got dumped. (He had learned his lesson on gossip a long time ago). "Having a problem." He hoped that Sarah wouldn't be too mad, or jealous.

"Oh, okay." She understood that it was just a friend helping out another friend. And she trusted that if something happened, he would let her know. She was just a little annoyed because she had been left alone in a room full of people she barely knew. It was her first year at school, and she didn't know many people beyond her grade. And she only had one good friend there (Eleanor), who was already preoccupied with her own boyfriend. Still, she wasn't going to say anything. "I might have to go soon, but we still have half an hour," she pointed out optimistically.

Jack was about to start dancing with her, but then Principal Andersen went to the stage. "It's time to announce prom king and queen." And people cheered. Jack didn't really care. He just wanted to get back to Sarah. "Katherine Pulitzer,"

For a second Jack was scared that her ex-boyfriend was prom king (because that would've been awkward.) But it wasn't. "and Jack Sullivan."

Looking at everyone, both of them knew that they were picked as a joke. They seemed pretty amused. People saw them as polar opposites and enemies, without knowing the full story. They hadn't known about the kiss. Katherine was right. It is important to know all of the information. Jack took on the look of death. He wanted to punch everyone. Katherine's face turned ghost white in fear. She wanted to throw up. Guess old news never goes away.

But still, they went up on stage and collected their crowns. They could hear a few chuckles from the crowd. It was a hilarious sight to see the couple's faces. "And now it's time for their dance," Principal Andersen continued.

Jack remembered back to what his mother had told him. One arm above the waist, the other holds her hand, move around, and don't step on her feet. He couldn't understand for the life of him why such a tradition continued. There was barely any dancing at school events anyway. But he continued on with it.

And after awhile, it wasn't so awkward. They were both uncomfortable with the situation, so they understood each other. It even felt kind of a nice later on. And they only had to be together for three minutes, so any sort of humiliation couldn't have lasted that long. But of course, they were held hostage a little longer. They had to take pictures for the prom committee.

Julie was dancing with her friends near the DJ. From the corner of her eye, she could she Skittery in the corner. She was trying to have fun, but having him there was distracting (not that he was intentionally trying to bother her or anything.) Sarah mentioned, "Why do you keep staring at him?"

"I'm not," Julie replied quickly.

"Yes you are." They weren't the best of friends, but it was obvious that there was something strange going on.

"Well if I am, then there's no reason."

But Julie knew that that was a big, fat, lie.

She had always liked him. Since the first day they met, back in freshman year. She hadn't said anything, because she was too scared. But since she didn't have a date for prom, and knew that he didn't either, she finally decided to ask him out. She had simply said, "I like you. Will you go to prom with me?"

He said no. It was clear that he just wanted to be friends, and that they were never going to be more than that. Julie didn't know if she could deal with that. Because she knew that every moment with him would just remind her of heartache. Every conversation would feel awkward. Every new girlfriend would be a stab in the chest. The only solution was to never see him again.

She ignored his texts, avoided him in the hallways, and stopped hanging out with him on the weekends or after school. It wasn't how she wanted it to end, but she couldn't see an alternative.

She pushed away those thoughts. Because prom night was the time for fun, not pining over boys (at least for her.) But as she turned away, she caught Skittery's eyes, and he caught hers. Plain silence can hold a million words.

Before Jack could go to Sarah again, Mr. Pulitzer dragged him out into the hallway. "Let me make one thing clear. I am okay with you and my daughter being friends. But I don't want you dating her. If there's anything going on between you two, stop it now."

"Don't worry sir. That won't be a problem."

Jack ran over to Sarah. "I am so, so sorry."

"Jack, that wasn't in your control. It's okay." She pulled him over to the side. "But I think we need to talk." She took a deep breath. "I think we should break up."

Jack was shocked. She just said that everything with Katherine was okay, and it wasn't like they had kissed again. " But the thing with Katherine, was,"

"It's not about Katherine. We're going to be apart for a long time. I know you can stay faithful to me, and I know I can stay faithful to you. But I don't think it's fair for either of us. You're going to want to date other girls. I'm going to want to date other guys. There's o use in making ourselves miserable…I saw the way you looked at Katherine. You like her I can tell."

"No I," But then he thought about it. The feel of her arms, the smell of her hair, the way she looked in the pink lights. He had to admit, that there was something there. But he still couldn't bear the idea of leaving Sarah. Otherwise, they would've split up ages ago.

"I don't want to hold you back from that, when you have feelings for someone. I think it, I think it's better this way." As hard as it was, she knew that in the long run, it would just make things easier. She looked down at her phone, before she could start crying. Her father had sent her a text. "My dad has the car outside." She walked off. "Bye."

He loved her, and she loved him. But that's why they couldn't stay together.


	15. Graduation

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies**

 _1_ _9 days before graduation_

David was hanging out at Jack's apartment, and the two were watching a movie. Or rather, they sat in front of the TV screen as David watched Jack scribble some notes on a piece of paper. David turned to him. "What are you doing?"

"Coming up with senior prank ideas." Jack shook his head. "It has to be _perfect_ , but I can't come up with anything."

"Well when I was a kid, I thought of us this prank," he smiled at the memory. "Where you're in class, and the teacher asks you to read something out loud. And then you keep screwing up words, and then the teacher says the right word, but then you say that that's what you just said."

"That is the lamest prank ever."

"Gee thanks, now can we actually watch the movie." Jack put his stuff down on the side table.

 _18 days before graduation_

The next day in school, during homeroom, the loudspeaker went on (which was a pretty rare occurrence.) The voice of Ms. Larksin filled the room. "Good morning students!" She was way too perky for a Tuesday. "In two weeks from now, the twelfth graders will be graduating. I would like to announce the people who will be making speeches." She cleared her throat. "The valedictorian is David Jacobs." There was some slight cheering amongst the crowd. David gave an awkward smile. Medda announced the salutatorian, but Jack wasn't paying attention. "Francis Sullivan. There are no more announcements, have a good day!" and Ms. Larksin's voice was gone.

"What did she just say my name?" Jack was confused.

"Yeah," David replied. "The grade voted for you to talk at the ceremony." Jack had remembered taking that survey a few weeks ago. (He had actually voted for Blink to do it.) He was a little worried. He did not think that he was capable of doing such a task. David was also nervous too. He wasn't particularly scared of public speaking, but most people didn't listen to him. Still, they both had to do it.

That day at lunch, Jack and David sat together away from their group. David was trying to write his speech. The words seemed to flow, but he was constantly making little adjustments, tweaking it to perfection.

Jack was obsessively studying, reading and re-reading passages of his physics book. He had never used it before, but his notes were a complete mess, and he told himself that he would not walk into the state test without having a decent understanding of the subject. He had planned to read the entire textbook within a week. Which was completely doable, but he was still worried about time. David had never seen him act like that before, and it was kind of a strange sight to see.

Jack was getting frustrated and stressed. David could sense that, so he tried to relax things a little bit. "Les is graduating is ten days before ours, you know."

"Interesting." He didn't look away from his work.

"And I'm so excited to go."

"What middle school is he going to?" He was getting a little more invested into a conversation.

"Well my dad got another job, so he's going back to St. Maximilian." Jack nodded. David couldn't shake off the fact that something seemed wrong. "Are you ready for graduation?"

"Are you?"

"Nope." They both laughed.

Jack pointed to his book. "I have to get back to this." And he buried his nose in the text.

 _16 days before graduation_

That Tuesday, Jack had finally come up with the perfect prank, and it was time to put it in action. After announcing it to his friends, he snuck up to the roof of the school with a bucket of water and two balloons. After filling them up and placing them next to each other, he sat, and waited, for Principal Andersen to come out.

When he saw someone go through the door, he dropped the water balloon, and it fell down seven stories, onto a poor, unsuspecting, person. But it was not the principal. That victim? Mr. Denton. "What the?" At first he was mad. His clothes were soaking wet, and the water was cold. But then he started to laugh. Thinking about it, that was actually kind of funny. He looked up. "Well played, Jack, well played." After all, he had done a senior prank when he was in high school.

The next person at the school entrance was actually Principal Andersen. And he was talking to someone else. Jack aimed his balloon, but it fell on the wrong person. But just as he thought the plan was ruined, his friends came out from the front bushes with water guns, and started spraying everything, including Andersen. And when the second man looked up, Jack could see that it was Mr. Wiesel. (He looked like he was about to murder someone.) It all turned out perfectly. But there was still one more prank to go.

 _13 days before graduation_

It was the last history class of the year, and they were reading packets for review. Mr. Kloppman called on Jack to read first. "In July of 1892, the,"

"1899," Mr. Kloppman corrected.

"That's what I just said." Jack made his most realistic confused face, glad that he was good at suppressing laughter.

Racetrack spoke up. "Yeah, why'd you interrupt him?"

"Oh, sorry. Keep going."

"The newsbays of New York," Jack continued.

"Newsboy, not newsbay."

"What? Newsbay isn't even a word. What are you talking about?"

Mr. Kloppman knew that he was playing a trick. "Are you biting my ass?" It was the end of the year and he didn't care about language. David chuckled a little bit. He was right- it _was_ funny to watch. Jack decided that the prank was not lame after all.

Mush spoke up this time. "No he's not. He said newsboys."

"Okay…" It seemed likely that Jack and Racetrack would lie. But not Mush. And now he was just kind of confused. He wondered if he was hearing things. But he shook off that idea and told Skittery to read. Skittery was never in the mood for silly games. (Or so he thought.)

"In 1899, the newsboys of New York went on a string."

"Strike."

"Mr. Kloppman, are you okay?" Snoddy feigned innocence.

"Okay enough of this. We're watching a movie." The class cheered. Under normal circumstances, he would've read the worksheet himself and give the offending students an F in participation. But it was the end of the year, and he was feeling nice.

David and Jack talked on the way out the door. "Hey David, the boys, are staying over at my house tonight, you want to join?"

"It's Les' graduation tomorrow, remember?"

"You can meet them there."

"Okay, sure."

 _12 days before graduation_

The next morning, David was trying to get ready in a frantic. He had just put on his clothes, but he had yet to find his Metro card. They were buried in a giant mess on the floor. "Don't you ever clean up after yourselves?" he grumbled. He knew that he would have to leave soon, but didn't dare check the clock again. That would only take more time.

He threw away piles and piles of junk, from soda cans, to dirty laundry, to blankets and other various items (courtesy of his friends.) They were horsing around, and it made it hard to maneuver around places. He shook his head at that thought, knowing that he would already be out the door otherwise.

The more he walked around, the more panicked he got, as he couldn't spot the yellow card anywhere. The more panicked he got, the less focused he was, and the harder it was to actually complete his objective.

He tried to check the couch, but Blink was sleeping on it, and then when he asked for him to get up, he just shot him the middle finger instead.

David had made two separate piles of things he already checked, and things that he hadn't looked at, but then Racetrack mixed it all up when he lost his phone. (He got it back, but David was mad.)

Jack was running to the kitchen for breakfast and accidentally knocked into Mush, who was standing next to David. Mush was holding a glass of grape juice, and spilled it all over David's pants and white shirt.

"Seriously?" he looked down at his clothes. "My mom is going to kill me!" It was a good shirt. He liked that shirt. "I'm leaving for college in a few months, and I'm not going to see Les again for a long time after that. All I wanted, was to see my little brother's graduation, and you guys are all ruining it!" It wasn't like David to yell, but he didn't care at that point. He looked at the clock. "I'm running late, and I still can't find my Metro card!"

The boys looked at each other. They were feeling kind of guilty, but didn't know what to do. Luckily, Jack did.

He grabbed David's hand and dragged him to his bedroom. His fancy clothes were still dirty from prom, but he managed to find something decent. He pushed David a navy blue polo shirt and a black jacket that belonged to his father. "The pants will dry," Jack promised. The clothes didn't fit right, but that didn't matter. As David changed, Jack ran to his mom's bedroom. "Can I take the car?" He explained the situation, agreed to drive them herself. (She didn't trust him driving.)

David made it there with two minutes to spare. "Sorry for yelling earlier," he apologized.

"Forget it, just go!" And David jumped out of the car.

 _10 days before graduation_

It was the last (real) day of school, and Jack and David had English class. The students slid into their seats, waiting for Mr. Denton to begin his lesson. But the board was clear, there no worksheet on the table. He wasn't even standing up, just sitting at his desk. "I have nothing left to teach you," he shrugged. No more projects, homework, or books to assign. "It's a free period."

Jack thought back to the ninth grade. His history teacher had said the same thing, but back then, it didn't matter. He still had three more years of school left. But when Mr. Denton said it…it took a whole new meaning. Unlike before, he had no more time.

Both David and Jack were working on their speeches. As David edited, Jack stared at a blank page. He didn't know what to say at all. He didn't know how he was supposed to sum up the whole school year, or give words of advice. A lot of people saw him as cool, suave, and well spoken, and he felt pressured to meet those expectations. He just wasn't sure how he was supposed to do it.

David noticed that Jack was oddly quiet. In fact, he had been acting a little strange all week. He got the feeling something was a little off.

Jack asked, "Are you going to miss this place? When you leave?"

David shrugged. "I guess. But I mean, I've only been here for a year." As sad as it would be, it would be worse for everyone else. They had a lot more memories and relationships attached to Manhattan Tech. Then again, some people were happy to go. "What about you?"

"Honestly, yeah." A few days ago, he probably would've denied it. But not anymore. It was the end of the year, and it was starting to eat away at him. "I'm not upset about leaving this place." Jack had never enjoyed high school (or any school for that matter.) He didn't want to step foot in the building again. "It just might feel a little weird when I do, you know." Going out to college meant a whole new world to explore. With different people and places, along with lots of pressure, more responsibilities, extra work, and stress. Jack knew that he was one step closer to the real world, and that scared him a little.

David understood. And instead of pressing on the issue, he decided to give Jack his space. He simply nodded, and returned to his work. He looked at Jack's empty paper. "Just write. Even if it has nothing to do with the speech, just write." And Jack (reluctantly) did just that.

Before it was time to go, Denton stepped to the front of the classroom. "The books I assigned you this past year have taught you a lot of things. There were countless themes and ideas, too many to remember. But if there is one thing I want you to take away from this class, it's this: Never underestimate the power of one person. Anything small can grow to something greater." The bell rang. "It was an honor being your teacher. Please return anything you owe me if you haven't done that yet."

 _0 days before graduation_

The boys were lined up on the left side of the stage in height order. Mr. Wiesel was keeping them organized. Jack was in the right place and didn't have to move, but laughed at how weird it was to see him wearing a suit and tie.

Finally, after what seemed like a million years of waiting, it was time to walk out. It was just like they had practiced it in the school auditorium. _Steady walking, careful posture, don't go too fast,_ David reminded himself _._ Then everyone sat down.

Out of the multiple speeches that morning, Jack's was first. David's advice had worked.

"Good morning. There are a lot of emotions going on around here. Some of you are anxious for this to be over. Excited to leave, and say goodbye to high school forever. You would think that I'm one of those people. But I'm not. If you're like me, you're terrified. How easy is it to leave the place you've been for so long? After all, most of us have been here for four years. And it's never easy to leave your comfort zone.

But life doesn't mean anything if you can't take some risks. What would the world be without change? If life doesn't move forward, you get to miss all of the pain. But then you also miss the good things, so it evens out. Being loud is going to get you in a lot of trouble, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it.

And be sure to remember the past. Cherish it, learn from it, and use it to build on new ideas. Never ignore it, and don't run away, because that's just not going to work out. A lot of people say not to dwell on the past or worry about the future. And you shouldn't. But that doesn't mean that it doesn't matter.

I know a lot of you expected this to be full of humor and jokes, and I'm sorry if I didn't meet your expectations. A graduation speech is meant to be a representation of the past few years, and some comforting words for the future. Maybe a giant reflection on life itself. And since I guess I've already meant those requirements, I shall now impersonate some of our teachers and staff." He closed his eyes and opened them again as someone new,

As Mr. Kloppman: "Get up boys! Get up! There's no sleeping in history!"

As Mr. Sleeter: he snored.

As Mr. Pulitzer: "I will send you to Dean Snyder!"

As Mr. Denton: "Don't underestimate the power of one person."

As Ms. Larksin: "There are no more announcements, have a good day!"

Almost every person in the room laughed. Some of the adults didn't get the jokes, but even the impersonated teachers found that part hilarious. From the corner of his eye, Jack could see that Mr. Wiesel was chewing gum. Which, like the suit, he thought was quite funny. He had always made an effort to ban food and gum from class, but he didn't even have the respect to avoid it at graduation.

David's speech was the last one.

"A wise teacher once told me, 'Life doesn't suck. It's just unfair.' Back in the early months of ninth grade, I wrote an essay, explaining my thoughts on the definition high school.

I said: high school is not easily defined, simply because so many people will go through it. And people are very different from each other. But there is one thing I think applies to everyone. You will go through your lowest lows and your highest highs, but come out on top.

A lot of us will disagree with that last part. How many of us ended up broken and exhausted? Four years of late nights. Four years of more drama than can be remembered. Four years of homework, projects, tests, enough to break a man. There may be two hundred of us graduates, but I know each and every one of you. You've all worked hard. We have gone through the gates of the Underealm" (a nod to Racetrack.) "and back.

That alone, is an amazing accomplishment. All of you here 'came out on top.' I know that all of us are going to grow up and do amazing things with our lives. Going back to what that teacher said, we have all gone through a lot. But there is still much to enjoy. Whether it's an A on a test, or a day out with friends, or a glance from your crush, there were lots of good memories. And there will be many, many, more. Happy graduation."

 _1 day after graduation_

The next day, the seniors picked up their report cards. Before he left, Jack and some of his friends looked at the giant poster of colleges people were going to. It had the name of student, next to the name of the school.

"You're name isn't on there," David told Specs.

"Right." He was absent the day they made it. He quickly jotted it down. "There it is." He was going to a university in Michigan.

"I'm going to miss you when you're in Boston," Mush said sadly to Blink. He was moving to California, and they were going to be on opposite sides of the country. It was going to be hard, but they made plans to stay in touch.

"We don't really have to say goodbye," Swifty joked to Skittery and Racetrack. They were all going to stay in the city. In fact, Swifty and Skittery were both going to the same school. "Do you know where Julie's going?"

"I don't know, we're not friends anymore," Skittery replied. "She got into some place in Ireland…Can't remember its name."

That made Jack wonder where Katherine planned to go. "What about Katherine?"

"You would know more than any of us," Race pointed out. "I think she got into Northwestern, but I'm not sure." Racetrack was right, and it was a big accomplishment for her.

Jack and David continued to stare at the wall. He saw his name next to Horace Greeley University. And he still couldn't believe it. "You made it," David congratulated him.

"Yeah but what about you? You got into _Harvard._ Harvard!" David had been the first in the history of the whole school to get accepted there.

That didn't make him any less proud of Jack though. "Do you think the school paper next year is going to do better than this one?"

"Hopefully. I think Crutchy will do a good job."

"You're going to Boston too?" Blink asked Snoddy, looking at the poster. Snoddy hadn't really talked about college.

"No. The school is in Boston, but I'm doing classes online," Snoddy explained.

"Oh. Okay."

Then it was time to leave. David and the others made a beeline for the elevator (it was one of the rare occasions they were allowed to use it), but Jack wanted to walk. He took the long way, savoring everything. The color of the tile floors, the images on the posters, the bright fluorescent lights hanging above. He knew that he would eventually forget it all, but decided to do it anyway. He wasn't particularly sad or sentimental, he just felt like going down memory lane for a little while.

On his way out, he ran into Wiesel. "Hi, Mr. Wiesel. Happy to see me leave?" he joked.

"Believe it or not Jack, I don't hate you. You've got a lot of potential. Don't let it go to waste." And then he left. That was the nicest thing Mr. Wiesel had ever said to Jack.

He wished the security guards a happy summer, and left through the double doors. He rushed out onto the steps of the school, met his friends, and left to get a late breakfast. High school was officially _over_.

 **Author's Note:**

 **I appreciate theater104, Jackisbae757, truebooknerd, Newsiesgirl3434, biankies, Sarah2437, Jaywing25, Luckysquidmere, alex. , for adding this to your favorite stories lists. And to SuperNovKim, biankies, Newsiesgirl3434, Sarah2437, and alex., for adding it to your story alert subscriptions.**

 **And to those that commented, SuperNovKim, HJG, Guest, Jaywing25, (ESPECIALLY Anjion, biankies, and theater104 for consistency), your reviews kept me going. Thanks.**

 **A thank you to anyone who has read this :)**


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